


Stranger On The Road

by SapphireIsle92



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Bipolar Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Intimacy, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Hitchhiking, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Gang Activity, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Prostitution, Mild Angst, POV, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, WIP, Work In Progress, mentions of abuse, mentions of illegal activities, mild drug use, mild violence, multi-chapter, past trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2020-08-10 18:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20140003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireIsle92/pseuds/SapphireIsle92
Summary: Mickey Milkovich is driving across the country on the very last drug run he will ever make. Upon leaving Chicago, he happens across a tall, redheaded man looking to hitch a ride out of town. Though it was not something he would normally do, he finds himself strangely drawn to the man and decides to pick him up. Things seem uneventful at first, but Mickey would soon find out that this man would become so much more to him than just a stranger on the road.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a story that I have been toying with for some time and I have finally taken the plunge to post the first chapter. I'm not super confident about it yet, but I've found a lot of joy in putting it together, so I hope others will enjoy reading it. I needed another fic to work on, because for some reason I'm just more productive if I have more than one channel of creativity. I am still working on my other fics, so I hope no one is disappointed with a new one lol. I'd love to hear your thoughts! Hope you enjoy the first chapter! :D

This was it. Mickey Milkovich is set to depart on the very last drug run he will ever have to make for the family business. Then as soon as he returns, Mickey doesn't ever plan to look back, more than relieved that this part of his life will finally be over, a part that he never wanted to be involved with in the first place. The end was finally near for Mickey, and he couldn't have been happier about it.

About two years ago, just before his twentieth birthday, Mickey's father suddenly died, an event that he'd quietly relished and found much more pleasure and joy out of than any normal person probably would have. But since his father had always been an abusive, racist, homophobic asshole his entire life, Mickey would have been lying if he said he wasn’t glad that the fucker finally croaked, like a dark, heavy weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders and he could breathe for once. The times of stress free relief, relaxation and peace turned out to be short lived though, when a henchman of his father's previous employer abruptly showed up at his funeral. 

It hadn't been a particularly beautiful service anyway, especially when most of the guests were already drunk upon arrival, slurring and stumbling their way up to his casket to give their final goodbyes. A few others that Mickey's father hadn't exactly been on the best of terms with while alive showed up to simply make sure that he was really dead and it wasn't all some big scheme to help him get out of paying off other past debts. And of course save for Mickey's uncles, not many family members had shown up to mourn him at all, besides himself and his sister, since all of his brothers having fucked off somewhere else years ago as soon as they had their own chances to get out.

Mickey had never had that chance though, having always been his father's favorite for who the fuck knows why, and had been stuck making these runs with his father through most of his teen years. He thought he finally got his chance when Terry died, but upon seeing the sight of a glaring, impatient man in a suit, staring him down as he waited near the back of the service for everyone else to clear out, Mickey instantly knew that he'd been wrong, stupid enough to have such a hope. 

Mickey had instantly recognized the guy and for once almost dreaded the end of his father's funeral, knowing this man who he'd seen before on runs would be coming up to speak to him, to inform him that Terry's work wasn't done yet, whether he was dead or not. There had been a contract and everything, more time still owed to the big boss. There were still pick ups, deliveries and exchanges to be done, and if Mickey refused to pick up where his father left off it wouldn't be good for him or anyone else connected to Terry that they could manage to find. Mickey had instantly thought of his sister when that threat was thrown at him, and having always done anything he could to keep her protected, he agreed, but only until the contract was up. 

So for the last two years that's what he did, drove a few states over, sometimes even across country to drop off large quantities of drugs, mostly the harder stuff like blow, tar and glass, then exchanged it for cash and drove back to Chicago to turn in the payment. What Mickey hadn't predicted though, was just how good he would end up being at it, even better than his father used to be, always really smooth with words and was often able to talk a buyer up into paying more for the product than they'd originally agreed. Because of this, sometimes when he'd go to turn in cash to the big boss, he was allowed to keep a little bit of it, ‘for expenses’ and as a sort of payment for a job well done. Ever since that started, Mickey began having something to save for the day when he could finally get out, for when he was done with all this and could move on with his life. It was a day that was finally so close he could taste it on the tip of his tongue. And Mickey was beyond excited to finally get it all over with.

That day around noon Mickey packed the usual bag that he did when he knew the drive would be a long one, making sure he had some spending money to eat and sleep, and to keep his gas tank full, a few changes of clothes and a good, reliable handgun just in case he happened to need it. He drove to the same pick spot he always did to have a few large bricks of coke concealed within the trunk of another car that he'd use for the trip, replacing what would normally hold a spare tire. He then covered it with his bag, briefly went over the plan with the big boss's closest henchman, then set off back down the road again. 

Then as Mickey began to drive, slowly making his way toward the edge of the city, he felt a vibration suddenly begin buzzing inside his pocket that made him jump and curse, just before he shifted in his seat to fish out his phone. When he saw it wasn't his burner, but instead his personal cell, he creased his brow and squinted down at it, then finally raised it to his ear to answer. 

“Yeah?” Mickey greeted lazily, still feeling sleepy from his lack of coffee this morning and wondering what the fuck his sister was calling him for. 

“Did you leave already?” Mandy asked. Her brother sighed and rubbed his brow. 

“On my way out right now,” Mickey replied, “Got the shit picked up. Now I just gotta grab some fuckin’ coffee and fill up the tank, then I'm gone,” he said. 

“How long is this one gonna take?” Mandy queried. 

“As long as it fuckin' needs to,” Mickey said, “Got thirty hours of drivin' ahead of me at best, maybe longer,” he added, “But the drop ain't for four whole fuckin' days, so I'm taking my time,” he explained, “Don't wanna rush anything and end up fuckin' this shit up.” His sister sighed heavily into his ear. 

“But don't you want all this shit to finally be over with?” Mandy pressed, earning her a very thick, defensive scoff in return. 

“Of course I want this shit over with Mandy. Believe me, no one wants this done more than I fuckin' do,” Mickey assured, “But if I fuck something up, then it ain't gonna be fuckin' over with and you know it,” he said, “I don't wanna get my ass roped into this shit for another two years, so I'm just playin' it safe.” 

There was a silence between them for a moment and Mickey knew why. Mandy was worried about him, always worried about him when he went on a run, especially one that was far away and had a lot at stake. He didn't want her to worry like this, he never did, but he didn't blame her either. They both knew that if he got caught moving such a large amount of drugs over state lines and across the country, he'd easily get thrown in prison for trafficking, and with his family record and personal criminal history, he'd likely never get let out. But Mickey was always careful, really fucking careful to ensure that would never happen because he knew that he was all his sister had left and he wouldn't dare leave her to fend for herself like that. Though Mandy was always tough to convince, always telling him the very same thing each and every time he left out for another exchange and lowered her voice as she spoke. 

“Just be careful, okay?” Mandy said, her voice soft and pleading. 

“I will,” Mickey promised, then began to merge into the right lane as he neared the last gas station out of town and flipped on his turn signal, “I'll call you in a couple days,” he said. 

“You better,” Mandy replied. Then just like that, the line went silent and Mickey exhaled as he shut off his screen and tucked his cellphone back inside his pocket. 

When he pulled into the gas station, Mickey parked at a pump and hopped out to fill up his tank. As soon as it was full, he placed the pump back and walked inside to pay, grab a cup of coffee and a few snacks for the road. He got a tall cup of black brew with plenty of sugar, a few energy drinks just in case the coffee wasn't strong enough, a couple snickers bars, three cans of pringles and two of the hot dogs he saw roasting in the hot-and-ready station. Mickey topped the dogs with mustard and relish, then paid for his gas and strode back out to his car to leave again, feeling a little more prepared for the long drive ahead of him. 

Mickey was only a little over a mile outside of Chicago and about halfway through his first hotdog when he noticed someone walking solemnly along the side of the road with their thumb outstretched and an army green backpack slung along their back. He creased his brow as he chewed on his mouthful and eyed the man the closer he got, seeing him turn his face toward the sound of his car with a tired and drained expression on his face. The man looked young, around his age, with pale skin, red hair and long, lanky legs. 

He didn't normally stop for hitchhikers, especially when he was currently hauling a large stash of hard drugs inside his trunk, but something about this man made him pause and slow just a bit instead of speeding ahead. This guy looked rough, really rough, like he hadn't slept or eaten in days, if not longer, but he didn't look threatening or menacing in any way, which made him suddenly want to act on a whim and see what this guy's deal was. Mickey then slowed down a little more and pulled up beside him. 

When he stopped his car, he rolled down the window and met the man's eyes, seeing him split a small but friendly grin as he bent forward to speak to Mickey who leaned over his passenger seat to look at him better. Mickey gave him a brief once over before he opened his mouth, making sure the guy didn't look armed, or strung out, inspecting him a little to ensure he wouldn't be any trouble if he offered him a ride. He then arched a single eyebrow as he met his gaze again. 

“How far ya goin’?” Mickey asked. The redhead glanced ahead of them down the road with a squint, then shrugged as he peered back inside the window. 

“As far as I can,” he replied confidently. 

Then he glanced back the way he'd come, almost like he was searching for something or someone, like he was eager to get off the busy road and into any car that would take him, turning his face hopefully back down to Mickey with question in his gaze. The dark haired man thought for a moment, tapping his fingers along his steering wheel as he looked the redhead over again. 

He figured that if having him ride along for a ways turned out to be a hassle, he could always just kick the guy out of his car and leave him behind. Though if not, Mickey wouldn't be entirely opposed to having a bit of company on such a long drive, when he normally had to make such drives in silence all by himself. And Mickey also couldn't help but feel kind of bad for the guy, seeing how disheveled his hair was and how dirty his clothes were, like he'd fallen on hard times and just needed an escape. So against his better judgement, Mickey tipped his chin at him. 

“I got a pretty long fuckin' drive ahead of me, if you wanna ride with for a while?” Mickey offered, watching as the man's smile brightened almost instantly. 

“Fuck yeah,” the redhead replied, “I'll go as far as you'll take me,” he grinned happily, causing Mickey to give his head a flick, gesturing for the man to climb inside.

“Throw your shit in the back and hop on in then,” he said, to which the redheaded man very quickly and very gratefully complied. 

As the redhead opened the door to step inside, he shoved his bag over the seat and into the back, then situated himself in the passenger seat to sit as he shut the door behind him. He flashed another glance through the back windshield, then turned around to settle with a small smile still resting on his face. Mickey tapped his fingers again as he watched him, peering across the space through a moment of awkward silence, then raised his eyebrows expectantly, which only made the other man appear lost and confused by the expression. 

“You gonna buckle your fuckin' seat belt, or would you rather keep walking?” Mickey queried bluntly, causing the redhead to raise his own brow in realization. 

“Oh,” the man replied, then reached around to grasp the buckle, pull it across his chest and do as he was told, “Sorry,” he said. Mickey just looked away from him, focusing his attention back on the road and pulled out from the shoulder to get going again. 

They drove together in silence for a few minutes, just before Mickey picked his half eaten hotdog back up and took another bite. But then he began to feel the other man's eyes on him as he ate, which he tried to ignore, until the redhead decided to speak to him as he swallowed another bite. 

“Smells good,” he said, to which Mickey simply grunted a very short, uncommitted response, but didn't say anything back. 

Then Mickey chanced a glance over at him, seeing the redhead fiddling his thumbs within his lap, looking back ahead and trying to avoid any eye contact. As he looked him over again, noticing how thin he appeared, Mickey figured he was probably pretty hungry and although he wouldn't normally care, for some reason it bugged him seeing the redhead this way. He looked like a guy that under normal circumstances would probably be quite a bit bulkier than he was now, firmer, meatier and not as frail as he now appeared to be beside him. Mickey dropped his eyes down to his other hotdog that sat within it's cardboard container atop the center console and figured he probably didn't need it quite as much as his passenger did. He raised his gaze back up to the redhead who still seemed to be avoiding his eyes, then looked back forward as well. 

“Got another fuckin' hotdog right there if you want it,” Mickey mentioned suddenly, his words finally turning the other man's gaze back over to him. The redhead glanced down with hunger in his eyes, but also looked like he didn't quite want to be a handout and simply shook his head. 

“Oh uh, I really appreciate that, but I can't pay you for it,” he replied. Mickey scoffed and creased his brow, tipping his chin down toward it more insistently. 

“It only cost me a fuckin' buck, man,” Mickey said, meeting his eyes for only a second before looking back up at the road, “Look, I can tell you're fuckin' hungry, so if you want it-,” he offered again, but his words were cut off when the redhead almost instantly reached for the hotdog, brought it to his lips and took a big eager bite. 

“Thanks,” he grumbled over his mouthful, “Really,” the redhead added with a chew, “I can't fucking remember the last time I ate something,” he said, just like Mickey predicted, then took another large bite with a pleasurable hum pushing through his nose, “This is fucking amazing,” he praised, earning him a small chuckle from Mickey, watching him eat like he was absolutely ridiculous. 

“It’s just a fuckin' gas station hotdog, man,” Mickey replied, “Ain't no filet mignon,” he scoffed, “It's probably been cookin' under a fuckin’ heat lamp for the last like, two days,” he said, but the other man just shrugged. 

“I don't give a single shit how long it's been sitting,” the redhead mumbled through another chew, causing Mickey to shake his head, “It's food, and right now it's amazing,” he chewed as he pointed to the half eaten food in his hand, then took another large bite, devouring the hotdog like was the greatest thing he'd ever put in his mouth.

Mickey pressed his lips together and raised a peculiar eyebrow, but kept his eyes on the road and let the other man eat as he finished the last bite of his own hotdog. The redhead didn't finish very long after him, obviously even hungrier than he looked, sucking on the pads of his fingers and humming with delight again as he swallowed the very last mouthful. Mickey stayed quiet as he kept flashing the other man glances as he moved around in his seat. He then watched the redhead extract a plastic water bottle with a worn off label, obviously having faded away from far too much use, which sort of made Mickey crease his brow again. He thought maybe this guy was homeless, as he sure as fuck looked like it, smelled like it, and just generally appeared to have gone through absolute hell sometime recently.

Mickey normally wasn't a nosy person, because he typically never gave a shit, but he couldn't help but wonder what the fuck had happened to this guy? How did he end up like this? There's got to be a reason for it. And Mickey figured if he was giving the guy a free ride, he had a fair right in simply asking why. He was sort of the guy's unpaid chauffeur at the moment anyhow.

He watched the redhead tuck his water bottle back away inside his bag, then sat back in his seat as he pushed out a satisfied exhale through his nose and settled back into the quiet. Then the man jumped a bit when Mickey suddenly spoke, seeming like he hadn't expected the driver to speak to him very much again at all. 

“So why the fuck are you on the side of the road?” Mickey queried as he reached for a sip of his coffee. The other man shrugged. 

“Just felt like going for a walk,” replied the redhead, to which Mickey simply scoffed.

“Don't exactly look like you need it,” Mickey observed, then flashed him a glance, “Probably be better if you just ate something once in a while,” he said pointedly. 

The other man laughed at that, his laugh much more attractive to Mickey's ears than he'd ever admit, making sure to keep his eyes only on the road and nowhere near the other man's face. The redhead shrugged again. 

“I would if I could,” he replied simply, like it was something out of his control. 

The dark haired man nodded slowly, understanding the struggle of just trying to keep yourself alive, let alone well fed, since he'd gone through it himself more than once in his own life. Then they were quiet again for a pause as Mickey rolled his tongue behind his lip. 

“So you just felt like goin' for a fuckin' walk?” Mickey asked slowly, like he definitely didn't believe that. He peered back over to him again for just a second, seeing him offer an innocent nod, “A walk to where?” Mickey wondered further, his brow arching sharply with curiosity. The redhead suddenly grinned wide, his mood changing completely for just an instant, like he didn't have a care in the world. 

“Anywhere,” he smiled. 

The dark haired man just stared at him for a silent moment, looking the redhead over like maybe he had a couple screws loose somewhere and that was the reason he seemed to be acting the way he was. But he still wasn't completely put off by him, wasn't alarmed by him and still didn't find him to be much of a threat as long as he didn't get too much weirder. Mickey pressed his lips together and raised an eyebrow again. 

“So does that mean you don't give a fuck where I end up kickin' you out?” Mickey queried, “’Cause I really fuckin' doubt you'll be taggin' along for the whole ride,” he informed him, just wanting to make sure the redhead didn't get too comfortable where he sat. But the man still appeared as if he didn't mind a single bit. 

“Nope,” the redhead replied easily, “You can drop me in the next city, the next town, or the next fucking state for all I care,” he assured, then turned his face to grin at him again, “Wherever you stop though, please just promise you won't chop me up into little pieces and dump me in the woods,” he joked in a half serious tone, earning him a single genuine laugh out of Mickey at the unexpected request. 

Then Mickey turned his face to look at him with a peculiar expression, trying to make sense of the man's words. That was probably one of the strangest fucking things anyone had ever said to him before, especially within only five minutes of meeting. 

“You sayin' that you think I'm a fuckin' serial killer or some shit?” Mickey scoffed, to which the redhead just held his smile and upturned his palms to shrug again. 

“You can never know for sure,” he replied simply. Mickey chuckled and pointed at him with his thumb as he gripped the wheel on a turn. 

“Ain't it usually the creepy hitchhiker motherfucker who ends up bein' an ax murderer and not the innocent good samaritan that’s just offering him a ride?” Mickey queried pointedly, the slightest hint of a smug, amused smirk pulling at his mouth, “How do I know I'm not gonna be the one to end up in a hole?” he asked.

“I wouldn't take you for being innocent at all by what I can see,” the redhead observed suddenly, “Definitely look more like the axe murdering type than I do,” he teased with a chuckle, to which the dark haired man arched a sharp eyebrow at his boldness, “There's probably some kind of ulterior motive behind this random act of kindness, even if you don't plan to murder me and I just don't see yet,” he added with a narrow of his eyes. The dark haired man scoffed again and tipped his brow toward the street curb beyond the passenger window. 

“Well, if you'd rather just get the fuck out and go back to kickin' rocks, be my fuckin' guest, man,” Mickey retorted, but made no such move to pull back over, simply slowing down a bit to let the other man tuck and roll if he wanted, “Maybe the next car you jump in will be a safer bet for ya,” he said. He listened to the redheaded man beside him laugh again at that, but he still kept his eyes forward, refusing to look anywhere near the man's face as he did. 

“No, I’d much rather sit here and enjoy your air conditioning for the time being,” the man replied honestly, “Especially, if there's a possibility of my body ending up in a hole somewhere at some point later anyway,” he added teasingly, earning him another small scoff, then gazed over much too softly for Mickey not to notice, “I suppose looks can be deceiving sometimes,” he smiled, “Maybe I won't have to worry about it,” he shrugged, “Guess I'll take a chance and wait to see.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and kept them elsewhere, not wanting to be anywhere near the other man's gaze and just avoided looking at him all together. Silence fell between them once more for a few passing moments, with no other sounds but the other cars on the road, the rumblings of their engines muffling behind the windows. Then the redhead suddenly yawned once, then twice, and Mickey subtly looked over to watch him do it. After another pause, he gave his chin a single tip.

“You can fuckin’ sleep if you're tired, man,” offered Mickey, “I don't give a shit,” he said. The other man grinned again. 

“What, are you not enjoying my company?” he asked, to which the dark haired man turned his face toward him for a second and screwed his face up into an utterly ridiculous expression. This guy was a little too bold in his presumption and Mickey couldn't help but be just a little uncomfortable about it, scoffing again as he looked back ahead. 

“So far?” Mickey arched his brow, “So far, I think you're pretty fuckin' annoying actually,” he admitted, listening again as his words seemed to amuse the redhead, the man now laughing again quite openly at his admission. Mickey sucked his teeth and kept his eyes on the road, “Don't think I'd mind a little fuckin' silence for now, especially if you end up ridin' with for a while.” The redhead seemed to restrain his expression a bit, but his amusement didn't fade as he narrowed his eyes and arched an eyebrow of his own. 

“I'll get out whenever you want me to,” the man assured, “But I don't wanna fall asleep over here, just to get woken up by you opening the door on me so I go tumbling out into the street,” he said, “Is that what's gonna happen?” the redhead asked suspiciously. 

Mickey chuckled at that, unable to stop the extremely humorous mental image that the other man had placed his mind, but still just shook his head with surety. 

“No,” Mickey replied, “Not unless you end up pissin' me off or somethin',” he added honestly, then crinkled his forehead and met his eyes again, “Why are you so fuckin’ paranoid, man?” he queried back, “You have some bad fuckin' hitchhikin’ experiences or somethin'?” Mickey wondered. The redhead shrugged like it really didn't matter. 

“Bad experiences in general, I guess,” the redhead replied, then turned his face away from his driver to gaze vaguely out the window instead, “Especially with people I don't know,” he said. 

Mickey stayed silent again at that, understanding a bit and honestly felt a little sympathetic, especially looking at the man beside him, still seeing just how rough and dirty and pale he appeared. Mickey felt kind of shitty for having asked, wondering if he'd struck some sensitive nerve in the man that he hadn't meant to. He normally never gave a shit if he hurt people's feelings or not and he didn't necessarily care now, but he did feel a little guilty and tried once more to reassure the man a bit. 

“Well, I don't own an axe, and the only fuckin’ thing I plan on doing right now is driving,” Mickey assured, “I don't plan on taking any fuckin' scenic routes through the woods, or kickin' your ass out onto the highway just for shits and giggles,” he elaborated, causing the redhead to turn his face back as he listened to him, “So if you wanna fuckin’ sleep, then sleep, man,” he insisted, then looked away again, “Looks like you need it anyway,” said Mickey. 

The redhead looked skeptical, nervous, like he just expected the worst, and he made no move to comply. Instead his eyes scanned the road ahead, then his head turned to study the traffic behind them through the rear view mirror beside him like he was searching for something. It made Mickey confused and a little uneasy watching the other man appear to check if they were being followed by someone, especially with the current illegal cargo concealed in his trunk. For a second, Mickey had half a mind to just pull over and let the guy out to cover his own ass. But then the redhead sat back a little further in his seat and exhaled like he felt relieved about something, no longer seeming very bothered by whatever else may be out on the road, easing his driver's mind a little bit. 

He glanced over to watch the redhead nuzzle his body further back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and blinked heavily a few times, seeming like he was finally considering the offer. Mickey saw the man flash his eyes toward him again and raise an eyebrow. 

“You sure?” the redhead asked, causing the other man to shoot him an insistent nod. 

“Sleep, man,” Mickey directed, “I'll just wake ya the next time I stop,” he said. 

The redhead seemed to study him for another long moment before he relented some and turned his face away to gaze sleepily out the window. Then he yawned again and licked his lips, just before he let his eyes shut and began to settle more snuggly within his seat to rest. 

As Mickey watched him, he still couldn't help but wonder what had happened to this man, what had he gone through to end up in the state that he was in now? He knew there was a story there, and even if he also still knew it wasn't any of his business, Mickey wanted to know and kind of hoped he'd find out. 

He watched the redhead's eyelashes flutter atop his closed lids as he took another breath and exhaled through his nose, silently admiring the man's features, even if they were somewhat concealed by filth and grime. Mickey could tell he was handsome beneath it all and quietly tried to picture how much better he might look all cleaned up, freshly shaven and showered, with a full meal in his belly. His eyes traced the fiery, red stubble that coated his chin and the slightest hint of freckles he could see along his cheeks, just before they fell a bit lower, watching the muscles in his throat flex as he swallowed. 

Mickey was not the type to feel any sort of softness toward a complete stranger, but the longer he gazed at the man, the more it began to grow without his control and he just couldn't seem to help it. There was something about this man that he couldn't put his finger on, something that made him want to help the redhead, to comfort him during this very clearly troublesome time in his life. Mickey's own life wasn't all sunshine and roses either, but he still felt that if perhaps he tried, he could assist this young man in getting back on his feet in some way. He could help him out of this slump he'd somehow ended up in. At least, he hoped he could. 

In that moment, Mickey had decided to let the man ride with him for as long as he needed to, willing to help the redhead get as far away from whatever it was that he seemed to be escaping from, as long as he didn't cause him any problems along the way. Even if he still had a job to do as well, Mickey was sure that he could still do both, as long as he was careful about it. 

So he turned his face back to the traffic in front of him and relaxed within the silence, letting the redhead sleep and listening to the man beside him breathe heavily within his slumber, a calmness floating through the air between them.

Even if Mickey hadn't expected to have any company on this run, he was sort of glad he'd decided to accept it now, as strange and unusual as his first interaction with the redhead had seemed. Deep down he had a good feeling about this for some reason, not quite knowing yet why he felt that way though. But Mickey still had four days at most to figure it all out, wondering what the time may have in store for him and his nameless new traveling companion, if much of anything at all. He just hoped it would go smoothly and without any serious incident, unable to afford a slip up after working so hard to finally near the finish line. 

There was no way to know what would happen just yet, but he also didn’t mind waiting to see, for now at least.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! :)  
Sorry this took me so long, but I've had a lot of distractions.  
It's finally here though, so I hope everyone will like it.  
I'm still editing, so please excuse any typos. :)  
I really wanted to get this up, though it's a little longer than the last one.  
I'd love to hear your thoughts, so please don't hesitate to share them with me!  
Enjoy! :D

By the time night began to fall, Mickey had left Illinois, driven completely across the state of Iowa and was about a half hour past the Nebraska border. The redhead had stayed peacefully sleeping beside him the entire time, hardly so much as grunting or adjusting within his seat at all throughout the drive. The entire time Mickey had tried desperately not to be distracted by him, but still kept flashing the unconscious man numerous glances as each hour passed, unable to stop himself from thoughtfully studying him more and more. He just couldn't seem to help himself. 

On a normal run, Mickey probably would have just kept continuing on through the night and not stop until sometime the next day at the absolute soonest. But since he was taking it slow, had plenty of time to spare, and his ass was beginning to go numb from sitting so long, Mickey thought it best to pull over, and find somewhere to settle for the night. 

He came across a small motel in a shitty, nothing little town he'd been to before, that had a dinghy little diner behind it, separated only by a small, narrow alleyway. Both were places he'd been to many times in the past both with his father and well after his death, and he liked them well enough for being quiet, low key and cheap as all hell. Mickey thought it was always the perfect place to stop to have a bite to eat and get some halfway decent sleep for a night. 

Mickey pulled into the motel, found a spot near the door and cut off his engine, just before he dropped his hands from his steering wheel with an exhale and slowly turned his eyes back over to the sleeping man beside him. As he unbuckled his seatbelt, he paused for a moment, gazing quietly over him as he chewed his lip and contemplated how to wake him. Mickey didn't want to startle the guy, but he appeared to be in a rather deep sleep and thought that he may not be the easiest to rouse. But deep sleep or not, it was time for him to get the fuck up, because there was no way he was leaving the guy passed out alone in his car. The dark haired man pressed his lips together and blinked. 

"Aye," Mickey tried lightly, but the redhead didn't move. He creased his brow a bit and tried again.

"Yo!" he offered a little louder and the other man only seemed to twitch. Mickey's brow crinkled more deeply with annoyance, then reached in front of him and smacked his palm against the dashboard a couple times. 

"Aye, Red!" he practically hollered, finally causing the redhead's eyes to suddenly snap open, "Time to wake the fuck up!" Mickey informed loudly, watching the other man jump at his words, whip his face around to look at him and blinked hard a few times with a thick lacing of confusion woven within his gaze. 

"What?" the redhead blurted sleepily, then stretched his back a bit, "What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked, blinking a few more times as he looked around the car, then back at his driver, like he was slowly remembering where the fuck he was. 

"I'm talkin' about you openin' your fuckin' eyes and gettin' the fuck outta my car, man," Mickey replied bluntly. His passenger still looked half asleep, but nodded nonetheless. 

"Oh," the man said, "Okay," he accepted, then began to reach for his seatbelt as he let out a yawn, "Well, thanks for the ride then," the redhead said as he unbuckled himself and moved to turn around, reaching to gather his belongings in the backseat. 

Mickey watched him for a moment, normally not one to argue about someone taking off and leaving him the fuck alone. But as he watched the other man begin tugging at his backpack, ready to hop out of his car and never look back, Mickey swallowed nervously. He didn't want to send this man away just yet, still just wanting to help him if he could, eyeing the man's still very dirty clothes and the smattering of unwashed red hair atop his head. So instead he stopped him, not meaning what he said in the way that the redhead probably took it.

"Aye, I'm not sayin' you gotta take off yet," Mickey clarified, "I just mean that I'm stoppin' for the night, so you gotta get the fuck out because I am too," he explained. 

"Oh," the other man said again, "Alright then," he shrugged as he pulled his backpack into his lap. He rubbed his brow, then his eyes just before he turned his face back to Mickey again, "Can I ride with again tomorrow?" the redhead queried. Mickey chewed his lip for a second, then shrugged. 

"Let's just wait and see how the fuckin' night goes," replied Mickey.

The redhead looked a little intrigued by that reply, though the dark haired man just tried not to take too much notice. The other man kept his eyes on him for a second, then turned his face away, leaning forward some to peer through the windshield at the dinghy little building in front of them. 

"Where are we?" he wondered. 

"Nebraska," said Mickey. The other man seemed taken aback by that as he raised his brow in surprise. 

"Shit, really?" he asked, earning him a short, simple nod in return, "Wow," the redhead whispered, like he hadn't expected them to be so far away from Chicago already, then glanced back ahead, "Well uh, I actually meant like, where are we?" he asked once more with a point to the building they were parked in front of.

"Motel," Mickey replied simply. 

The redhead slowly turned his face back over to him, letting his sight fall down over the man with curiosity in his gaze. Hesitantly, he then glanced back up and met his eyes. 

"Motel?" he repeated questioningly. The dark haired man just kept avoiding his gaze and gave another nod. 

"Yeah," Mickey confirmed, then scrunched his face with a bit more annoyance as he finally turned his head to look at him, "You expect me to sleep in the backseat of my fuckin' car?" he asked, hoping to squash whatever it was within the other man's mind to make him think it's okay to look at him the way he was. The other man just shrugged and turned his face away, causing Mickey to exhale as he looked back ahead of them as well. 

"Besides, you need a fuckin' shower anyway, man," Mickey informed him, "You reek," he said. The other man laughed, then looked confused again as his brow creased deep and he gave his head a shake. 

"Wait, you're letting me share your room with you?" the redhead asked. 

"I'm letting you use the fuckin' shower," corrected Mickey, "I'm also hungry as fuck and I wanna go eat some fuckin' supper at the diner back here," he added with a point of his finger toward the alley behind the motel, "But there's no way in hell I'm gonna be able to stomach much of shit if you're sittin' across from me fuckin' stinkin' like that," he explained, figuring his blunt honesty might offend the man. But still, the redhead just appeared much more confused than anything else, giving his head another disbelieving shake as he tried to make sense of what Mickey was saying. 

"You're taking me to dinner?" he queried absurdly, sounding as if he'd suddenly stepped into some strange twilight zone or thought he was still maybe dreaming. Mickey just rolled his eyes as he reached to open his door. 

"Just get outta the fuckin' car already."

They both exited the vehicle, then Mickey popped the trunk to grab his own bag and locked it up behind them. They walked beside each other in silence as they closed the short distance toward the front door of the motel, with the redhead seemingly trying to sneak glances around the lot for some reason. Mickey watched him curiously for a moment, just before he halted the redhead beside him with a sudden raise of his palm. 

"Hang back for a minute, eh?" Mickey directed, then tipped his brow toward the front lobby just inside, "Lemme see what they got," he said. 

The other man didn't argue, just simply tipped his own chin in agreement and stepped off to the side to sit down atop the curb in wait, the large, green backpack sliding down from his shoulder and landing on the concrete between his knees with a light thud. Mickey watched him sit, but didn't linger, continuing in his direction to open the door and step up to the front desk within the lobby. 

The attendant that greeted him was a gray, burly older man with a thick mustache and a red, plaid shirt that had sleeves which seemed to button just a bit too tightly around his wrists. He watched Mickey approach in silence, waiting as he stood before him and placed his palms down atop the counter, then raised a single bushy eyebrow in question. 

"I need a room for tonight," Mickey informed, "Somethin' with two beds," he specified, figuring that if the evening with his new traveling companion went well enough, he wouldn't be entirely opposed to offering the man a place to sleep that wasn't outside. 

The man behind the desk still said nothing, simply turning his face down to scan through a few pages within a scheduling book in front of him. This motel was obviously not fancy enough to keep track of their bookings on a computer, but instead stuck to paper the old fashioned way. It took a few minutes longer to get a reply than it probably would have otherwise, but Mickey just tried to wait and keep his patience, chewing his lip and tapping his fingertips along the countertop. Finally the man raised his face and met his eyes again. 

"Only got singles open right now," the man said, causing the younger man to raise a confused eyebrow. 

"What?" Mickey replied. 

"Only single bed rooms are available tonight," the older man rephrased, saying each word clearly, slowly and enunciated each syllable. The other man pushed a harsh, irritated exhale through his nose and pressed his lips together. 

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?" Mickey scoffed, "There's not _one_ fuckin' empty room with two beds in this shithole?" he queried incredulously. 

The man behind him merely blinked and clicked his cheek in reply, giving him no other answer. Mickey internally groaned as he rubbed his brow, then relented, figuring a carpeted floor is probably still better for the redhead than the curb and began to reach for his wallet within his back pocket. 

"Gimme the cheapest fuckin' room ya got then."

When Mickey poked his head back out the front door in search of the redhead, he found the man in the very same spot he'd left him, seated on the curb with his backpack, now smoking a cigarette as he stared out at the quiet little street in front of him. The dark haired man gave a quick whistle, catching the man's attention, turning his face toward him, then gave his head a flick to get up and follow him. The redhead tipped his chin, crushed the burning end of his cigarette into the ground, then stood up to do as he was directed. 

Mickey led the way down the cracked and narrow walkway, passing several closed doors on the way to their assigned room with a single key dangling from his fingers. Then they approached the proper room and Mickey halted his steps in front of it to unlock the door and push it open with a thick, scratchy creak. 

Their motel room looked like exactly what you'd expect to find for only twenty-five bucks a night. There was a small twin mattress on one side of the room, a shitty, little box television crammed into the corner and a rough, patchy looking loveseat along the other wall. The bathroom was near the back, separated from the main room by only a thin, worn curtain and the carpet was covered in various questionable stains. 

Mickey hadn't expected much for the price he was given and having been here several times before, the state of the room didn't surprise him. But it was enough for a night, and Mickey had no room to complain, knowing he'd only be spending a few hours in here to sleep at the absolute most. So he just dropped his bag on the floor beside the bed and stepped aside for the other man to enter as well, glancing toward him to see his reaction to the dark, dirty little room. The redhead didn't seem bothered at all though, taking a quick look around, his eyes pausing on the lone, single bed for just a moment, then stepped past it to drop his own bag onto the floor as well. Mickey sat down on the edge of the bed, reached over to scoot a small, glass ashtray toward him on the end table beside it, then began searching over his pockets for his cigarette pack to light one. 

"Shower's back there," Mickey said as he sparked his lighter over the end of his smoke and pulled a deep, thick drag, "Try to make it fuckin' quick, eh?" he suggested, "I'm still hungry here."

The redhead ruffled a palm through his hair, then turned to walk toward the bathroom curtain, pulling it back a bit to peek inside. He then turned back around and reached down for his backpack on the floor. 

"No toiletries," he mumbled, earning him a small scoff as Mickey exhaled a cloud of smoke above his head. 

"Did you really expect there to be anything like that in this dump?" he asked with amusement. The other man just shrugged as he zipped open his bag and began digging downward toward the bottom of it. 

"No big deal. I have some soap and shit in here somewhere," the redhead replied, then extracted a small bar of soap and a small bottle of shampoo, both appearing to be what you would normally find provided in a motel that wasn't nearly as shitty as this one. Mickey's forehead crinkled as he raised an eyebrow. 

"If you have shit like that, why don't you use it more often?" Mickey queried, to which the other man just shrugged again. 

"Hygiene isn't always the most important thing for me lately," he admitted as he also grabbed a shaving razor and small can of shaving cream, then stood up straight with the small collection of items grasped within his palms, "And I can only wash so much in a gas station sink," he added a little quieter. 

Mickey felt a little guilty hearing that response, finding his own invasive questioning a little inconsiderate. But he said nothing in return, watching as the redhead crossed the space again and disappeared behind the curtain. He flicked a bit of ash from his cigarette into the little glass dish beside him and stared at the blank television screen as he heard the shower turn on just a few feet away. He then reached for the remote on the end table and pointed it at the television to turn it on, trying to distract himself from the mental images of the wet, naked man standing in the shower that were suddenly swarming his brain. 

The position he suddenly found himself in was an odd one, not something he was used to at all, having purchased a motel room that he may end up sharing with a complete stranger later on in the night. It was stupid and risky, and Mickey knew that. But there was still just something about this guy that seemed to draw him in, a nearly overwhelming need to help him, which was a feeling that he'd never quite felt before. 

Mickey tried to convince himself that what he was doing wasn't strange or weird in any way, just wanting to give the redhead a ride, treat him to a meal that he very clearly needed and offer him a place to sleep. Being in a fairly comfortable position in his own life at the moment, he was able to offer these things to someone less fortunate than he was and that's all he planned to do. Mickey hoped that if he were in the redhead's shoes perhaps someone might be kind enough to do the same for him. Maybe this would give him a bit of good karma that he desperately felt he needed after having to do so many other horrible things in his short twenty-two years of life. This was just a simple good deed he was offering to this man and nothing more than that.

He was about halfway through his third cigarette when he heard the shower finally shut off, and the angry grumbles from his gut were really starting to agitate him. Then Mickey's eyes shot toward the bathroom curtain when it opened to reveal the tall, nameless redhead emerging from within, his body pale, clean and still slicked wet from his shower, wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. He tried not to stare, but fuck was it difficult, seeing his thin, yet toned upper body glistening against the light of the television screen as he reached down for his bag in search of cleaner clothes to wear. The red strands of his hair dripped tiny beads of water into the carpet as he rummaged through his bag and his chin looked much more boldly chiseled from being smoothly clean shaven instead of coated in rough, short stubble. 

Mickey couldn't seem to take his eyes off of him until the man straightened back up with new clothes in hand, then turned around to meet his gaze just as the dark haired man looked away from him as quickly as he could. The redhead offered an innocent unknowing smile and gestured back toward the bathroom. 

"Sorry for taking so long. Just felt so nice to take a real shower," he said, "Just give me one more minute to get dressed and we can go," the man grinned, then disappeared behind the curtain again. 

Mickey didn't look back in his direction until the curtain slid closed and he exhaled a small curse as he gave his forehead a quick, rough rub. He hadn't been expecting that. Sure, beneath the dirt and grime Mickey could tell the moment he saw the redhead that the guy was attractive, but actually seeing him within all his bright and fresh, squeaky clean glory was a completely different thing all together. The man was fucking distracting, and Mickey could no longer seem to sit still, idly flicking his thumb over the filter of this cigarette, then sucking in another thick puff as he tapped his foot against the floor. He was still hungry, but now a bit more for something else besides food, something Mickey knew he couldn't afford to distract him right now. 

Maybe it would be better if he didn't share a room with this guy tonight? Maybe it would be safer for him to not have a slip up, even if he hadn't gotten laid in nearly a year. But Mickey was still tempted, really tempted, quietly wondering if the redhead even swung that way at all. The chew in his lip gradually turned into a gnaw as he thought about it, now wondering how the rest of the redhead's body might look beneath his towel. Then he jumped once more when the bathroom curtain was pulled open again, his body stiffening with guilt from his inappropriate thoughts and he swallowed at the sight of the man. 

Mickey's eyes lingered a little longer than they probably should have, taking in the view of the redhead wearing a perfectly fitted green t-shirt that clung tight to his chest and a dark gray pair of jeans that grasped around the muscles of his legs in all the right places. His sight then moved back up, meeting the other man's eyes, seeing him smiling at him once more, perhaps seeming to notice the way Mickey had paused to admire him, and he swallowed again, looking away to crush his cigarette into the ashtray. 

"'Bout fuckin' time," Mickey grumbled, "You all finished makin' yourself pretty now?" he asked. The redhead smiled a bit wider as he raised his chin up proudly and arched a single eyebrow. 

"You think I'm pretty?" the other man teased playfully, causing Mickey to frown as he scrunched his face up and shook his head. 

"Shut the fuck up, man," Mickey spat with much less heat than he'd intended, then stood up from his spot on the bed, turned the television off and began walking toward the door, "You coming or am I eating alone?" he queried. The other man just held his grin and gave a nod. 

"Right behind you," he said.

As they locked up the motel room and made their way around back to cross the alley toward the diner, both men kept sneakily stealing glances at each other, with the redhead being much more open about it than the other man was. Mickey watched the redhead suck in a deep, full breath, then exhaled like he'd already felt so very rejuvenated from just being cleaner than he was before and forced himself not to smile at him when deep, green eyes flashed back over to him. He was feeling good about this, really good, glad to see the redhead appear much more comfortable with himself than he had when he first picked him up off the side of the road back in Chicago. Maybe this risk of letting him tag along for a bit would be worth it? But still, Mickey figured only time would tell.

They stepped inside the diner with a small golden bell atop the door that rang out an announcement of their arrival, and found the place to be pretty empty for the most part. That's the way it usually was here though any other time Mickey had passed through here, so it wasn't unusual. Mickey simply began leading the other man down the aisle toward a booth, then noticed that a familiar waitress who'd always had eyes for him in the past had noticed his presence, shooting him a happy wink and quickly followed to wait on the pair of men as they slid into their seats.

"Well hello handsome," the woman greeted Mickey with a smile, "Long time no see," she winked as she smacked her piece of chewing gun behind her teeth and tucked a long strand of curly, blonde hair behind her ear that had escaped from her ponytail. The dark haired man shot her a small but friendly smirk and tipped his chin. 

"Hey Lacy," Mickey replied, "How ya been?" he asked. Lacy batted her lashes and smacked her gum again. 

"Better, now that I get to see you again," the waitress flirted sweetly. 

Mickey pushed a small, amused scoff through his nose and glanced across the table at the redheaded man who sat appearing awkward and quiet as his eyes moved between them. Lacy then turned her face on him too and shot him a smile as well. 

"Who's your friend?" Lacy asked. The dark haired man tilted his head as he looked the other man over, then clicked his cheek. 

"Ya know, I don't think I've caught his name yet," Mickey admitted, causing the redhead to raise his eyebrows with realization and he straightened up a bit. 

"Oh, Ian. My name's Ian," he said, flashing half a glance toward the waitress, but kept most his focus on Mickey.

Now the man had a name: Ian. Mickey kind of liked the sound of it, happy that he now had something to call him if he ended up being around for a little while. He wasn't sure why he hadn't asked before now, perhaps because he just didn't have much opportunity before, especially with the redhead being so very tired when he'd picked him up. Ian had slept the entire drive until they stopped. But now he knew, and Mickey was sure that he wouldn't forget it. Lacy turned her eyes back to Mickey and raised a curious eyebrow. 

"So, he's _not_ your friend then, I take it?" she queried. Mickey pressed his lips together as he thought about the question, then shrugged a single shoulder. 

"More like he's just keepin' me company for now," he said. Lacy smiled again rather flirtatiously and shot him another wink. 

"Maybe I could keep you company too?" she wondered with a smirk. The dark haired man just held his expression, more than used to Lacy's come-ons by now and simply raised his brow.

"Or you can take my fuckin' order instead?" Mickey offered, which the woman accepted easily, not seeming offended by being turned down in the slightest and reached for the pen and note pad within the front pocket of her apron. 

"Anything you want," replied Lacy.

"Any specials today?" Mickey asked, earning him another sweet smile from Lacy. 

"Banana cream pie is only fifty cents a slice," she replied, "And all burgers are half off," said Lacy. Mickey grinned with a nod. 

"Perfect," he said, then looked back over at Ian who still sat quietly across from him in wait, "You like cheeseburgers?" Mickey asked, to which the other man nodded. 

"Of course," Ian replied, "Who doesn't?" The dark haired man held his grin as he looked back up at their waitress. 

"Alright. Two bacon double cheese burgers then," requested Mickey, watching as Lacy scribbled down the order onto her note pad. 

"French fries or onion rings?" she queried. 

"Onion rings," replied Mickey. Lacy's eyes then moved back over to Ian with question in their gaze. 

"Fries," he said, to which the pretty blonde woman scribbled a bit more atop her pad. 

"Drinks?" Lacy asked. Mickey looked over at Ian and met his eyes. 

"Beer?" he wondered. Ian nodded eagerly, causing the dark haired man to smirk as he turned again to answer Lacy, "Two beers," he said. The woman nodded as she finished writing down their orders, then slipped her pen back inside the pocket of her apron as she gave Mickey another wink. 

"Be back with your food in a bit," Lacy said, then reached down to touch his shoulder before going on her way, "It's good to see you again, Mickey," she smiled.

The dark haired man just turned his face back to the table, having no interest in saying anything back or watching her walk away. But when his eyes landed back on Ian, he saw the man smirking at him a very smug way. Mickey creased his brow and tilted his head. 

"The fuck you lookin' at?" asked Mickey. 

"She seems nice," Ian observed, earning him a very uninterested shrug. 

"I guess," said Mickey. 

"Seems really into you too," the redhead added. Mickey scoffed at that. 

"She's been tryin' to ride my dick for like four fuckin' years, man," he confirmed with disinterest, "I dunno why she hasn't given up yet," shrugged Mickey. Ian tilted his own head as well. 

"How come you've never let her?" Ian queried. Mickey narrowed his eyes a bit, wondering why the fuck this guy thought that was any of his business, but responded just as well. 

"Just not my type," said Mickey. The redhead held his smirk and glanced toward the kitchen behind the counter, watching as the woman sent their order back, then looked back at Mickey. 

"Why not? She's pretty," Ian wondered, but the other man just offered a flick of his head. 

"You want her? Go get her, man," he directed. The other man seemed to contemplate his response before he spoke again. 

"Nah," Ian replied, "Not exactly my type either," he said. His voice had a strange, unlining tone lacing through his words that Mickey couldn't quite figure out. But he didn't linger on it long, instead just turning his face down to fiddle with his thumbs. 

"So you come here often?" Ian asked. The other man chewed his lip a bit, then shook his head. 

"Not too often," Mickey replied, "Just once in a while," he said, "Whenever I gotta drive through here, I usually do," he shrugged.

"You like it then?" Ian asked further. 

"I guess," Mickey replied again, "They got decent food and strong beer," he added, "Don't really need much else," he said. The redhead hummed in agreement as he rested his chin atop his hand. 

Mickey suddenly felt a little awkward, not really one to be very good at making small talk, because he was never usually interested in it. But it seemed rude to not at least try. Maybe they'd have something in common that they could talk about? Though he really kind of doubted it. His thumbs fiddled a bit more just before he laid his palms flat on the table, willing to make them stop and arched an eyebrow at his new companion. 

"Are you from Chicago, or were you just passing through?" Mickey wondered suddenly, his question seeming quite unexpected to the man across from him, watching as he swallowed and contemplated his answer again. 

"Kinda both," Ian confirmed simply, not offering any other explanation for what he meant. But Mickey didn't bother asking him to clarify either. 

"You ever been this far outside of it?" Mickey queried instead. The redhead nodded, then shook his head. 

"Yeah. Well, sorta," Ian corrected himself, "Not this far west anyway," he said, "Been out east before though. And I went down south with my mom a few times when I was a kid." 

"Family vacation or some shit?" Mickey asked, creasing his brow as he watched the redhead turn his face down a little bit. 

"No, not exactly," he said.

The other man stayed quiet for a moment, wondering if he'd unknowingly struck another nerve with the redhead, but he didn't question him about it either. He didn't want to pry, didn't want the man to feel interrogated, just like he wouldn't appreciate someone doing so to him. So instead, he just tried to keep the conversation going as best he could. 

"How far away are you trying to go now?" Mickey asked. The other man just shrugged. 

"How far are you planning to drive?" Ian asked back. The dark haired man scoffed and screwed his face up a bit. 

"Who the fuck says you're staying with me the whole way?" Mickey pressed. The redhead grinned and innocently pushed out his lip. 

"Even if I don't, I'm just curious," he said. 

Mickey hesitated, thinking, debating, unsure if he wanted to give out too much information to a person that he doesn't know. Then he figured that he didn't really have to be very specific and could always just leave out the details. 

"California," Mickey replied finally. The redhead looked intrigued and excited by that response and suddenly split a wide grin. 

"Really?" Ian asked, "I've always wanted to see Los Angeles." Mickey scoffed again at that. This guy was getting way too ahead of himself. 

"Too fuckin' bad I'm not goin' to Los Angeles," he replied, watching as the other man's expression and shoulders slumped just a bit. 

"Oh," Ian said, "Well, where then?" he wondered, the question making Mickey a little nervous, but he didn't see much harm in replying. 

"Oakland," Mickey informed, causing the other man to look extremely confused. 

"Why the fuck would you wanna go to Oakland?" Ian asked, causing Mickey to harden his expression a little bit, not wanting the redhead to become too comfortable in his queries. 

"Why the fuck do you ask so many fuckin' questions?" Mickey wondered back, his tone turning a bit harsher than before. 

The redhead seemed a little taken aback by his change in tone, but he didn't push it. Instead he simply pushed out his lip and silently raised his hands in defense, just before Lacy reappeared with two plates and two beers in her hands, smiling sweetly as she slid them onto the table.

"Here you go fellas," Lacy smiled as she handed each man their food and beverages, "Enjoy," the woman practically sang, then sauntered back off toward the kitchen. 

Ian was still quiet after she left, staring down at his plate, but not making much move to touch it. Mickey hadn't meant to snap at him the way he had, and watching how he avoided his eyes now kind of made him regret doing so, especially since the redhead had been nothing but kind and appreciative of every gesture he'd offered. So Mickey tried to offer another gesture now as well, even if it was rather far from the truth. 

"I just felt like goin' for a fuckin' drive, man," Mickey offered finally, somewhat mirroring a response that Ian had given him when he'd picked him up earlier, "I hear it's nice out there this time of year," he lied.

Ian seemed to accept that, offering a small smile and an understanding nod and his mood seemed to lighten back up almost instantly as he peered back down at his plate, licked his lips and lifted his cheeseburger up to take a big bite. He chewed a bit and met his eyes again. 

"I've never been to California before," mentioned Ian. Mickey took a bite of his own food as well and shrugged yet again. 

"It ain't all it's cracked up to be," assured Mickey, "Mostly just filled with a bunch of yuppie fuckin' idiots," he chewed, "But in other parts it ain't so bad." The other man nodded again.

"New York is kinda like that," Ian informed, "Been out there a couple times," he said, to which the dark haired man arched his brow as he chewed on an onion ring. 

"More hitchhikin'?" Mickey queried. 

"Something like that," said Ian.

Mickey watched him as he ate, chewing slowly in thought as he continued to wonder about the man. He wanted to know more, wanted to ask more, but also wanted to give Ian the same respect he expected in return. He didn't want to pry too much, because he wouldn't want the other man to pry either, but fuck, was he curious to learn more about him. The redhead was still such a mystery to him, an enigma that he yearned to discover, even if he still barely knew much about the guy at all. Mickey just wanted to know. He swallowed another mouthful and took a sip from his beer. 

"Been doin' that for very long?" Mickey asked. Ian raised an eyebrow, not seeming to understand what he meant, so he clarified, "The hitchhikin'," he said. 

"Long enough," Ian replied vaguely. The dark haired man bit down on another onion ring and began to chew again. 

"Gotta be careful doin' that shit, man," Mickey warned, "Never know what kinda crazy motherfucker might be in the next car you hop into," he said. The other man laughed over his bite and swallowed. 

"Not many people are crazier than I am," Ian admitted, causing Mickey to wonder all over again, then watched him shrug, "I know how to look out for myself though," he said. The other man skeptically raised his brow. 

"You sure about that?" asked Mickey. 

The redhead met his eyes and grinned in a very mischevious way, then set his burger down atop his plate to reach for something beneath the table. Mickey crinkled his brow and almost moved to look and see what the fuck he was doing, when Ian suddenly extracted a big sharp bowie knife from his boot and stabbed it hard into the table between them. Mickey's eyes widened as he peered down at the blade that was easily as long as his forearm, then looked back up at Ian with a shocked, incredulous expression. 

"Pretty sure," Ian grinned. 

"Holy fuck," Mickey replied, "You've had that thing on you this whole fuckin' time?" he queried in disbelief, to which the redhead laughed again as he picked his burger back up. 

"Well I sure as fuck didn't pull it out of my ass just now," he said. 

Mickey sat unchewing with his mouth agape for a just a moment, then scoffed at him and gave his head a shake. 

"And you called _me_ the axe murderer," Mickey said, watching as the other man chewed on a few french fries, then pointed at the blade still stuck firmly within the table. 

"Technically, this isn't an axe," Ian noted smugly, to which the other man smirked a bit and tipped his chin down toward it. 

"It's just as good as," Mickey insisted, "You could chop some asshole's head off with that fuckin' thing," he said. The redhead smiled, then reached to pull the blade out of the table and bent to slide it back into his boot. 

"It's just for protection," Ian assured, "I'll only use it if I have to," he said. 

"Think you're gonna have to?" Mickey queried with another raise of his brow, unsure if he found the man's choice of weapon more sexy or appalling, chewing a bit more of his burger as he waited for his answer. Ian looked him over in quiet study for a moment before he spoke again. 

"On you?" Ian wondered, then shot him another smirk, "I hope not," he said.

Mickey hoped not too. Though if it came down to it, Mickey never traveled without a gun and he was pretty quick with it when he had to be. But despite now knowing the redhead actually did have a weapon on him, for some reason Mickey wasn't really worried or alarmed even if he probably should have been. He still didn't sense that Ian had any hostile intentions toward him, but he did wonder if it would change, especially since by his own admission, he was apparently crazy. He didn't seem crazy to Mickey though. A little weird maybe, but not crazy, and he was usually a pretty good judge of character when it was important. He still wasn't completely swayed away on sharing a room with him for the night either. But he was still curious if he should be. He took another sip of his beer and raised his eyebrow again. 

"You ever had to use it before?" Mickey asked, not expecting the man to answer. But he did, quite easily. 

"Just once," Ian replied, "But that was the only time," he said, easing Mickey's mind a little bit more.

"Hope the guy deserved it," Mickey said. The redhead swallowed a sip of beer, then peered over at him with a very cold and serious expression. 

"He did," said Ian.

"Well good," nodded Mickey. 

He could respect that, especially if this person had attacked him or done some other awful thing to Ian. Mickey wouldn't hold it against him at all, as he had a right to defend himself just like anybody else. And if that was the reason the redhead had to use his knife on another person, he felt pretty content that such a situation probably wouldn't occur between the two of them, since Mickey had no intentions of doing any such thing like that to the man. Then as they looked each other over, each man quietly enjoying their dinner, there seemed to be an understanding there that neither one wanted any incidents like that to arise. So together they continued to eat their meals and drink their beers in a relatively comfortable manner, making more small talk and beginning to get along quite easily. 

Mickey was actually kind of surprised how easily the conversation between them came, figuring out that they really did have a lot more in common than he thought they would. He discovered that throughout the last two years, both he and Ian had been doing somewhat similar things with their lives, at least as far as traveling went. Ian had been almost all over the place, though he never stayed long anywhere he went. Mickey had been the same, often traveling for business, though the details of what kind of business he'd kept to himself, as did Ian, staying very vague in his own specifics for his own reasons. 

They'd learned that they were both from the same part of Chicago, even the same neighborhood, with their childhood homes being only a few blocks apart. They both had large families and shitty parents, though neither man gave too many details on that either. The pair even attended the same elementary school as children, though neither seemed to have any recollection of ever meeting the other there. It was so very unusually peculiar how similar, yet different they were and that it was just a simple moment of happenstance that they ended up meeting at all, like some strange stroke of fate had put them both on the very same road at the very same time. But Mickey wasn't complaining. 

He'd found that Ian had a pretty good sense of humor, making him laugh quite a few times throughout the evening. They had similar interests in music, video games and action films, even professional wrestlers and sports teams, and they talked a lot longer than Mickey had realized. Both men had long since finished their plates, Mickey had ordered them each a few more beers and he'd even taken Lacy up on her offer of fifty cent slices of pie, which Ian seemed quite pleased to receive.

Sitting together with Ian was comfortable, really comfortable, much more so than he ever thought it could be considering they hadn't even known each other an entire twenty-four hours and it already felt like so much longer. It was weird for Mickey to let his guard down so much. But the more he spoke with Ian, the longer he gazed at him, silently admiring the way the freckles of his face scrunched around his eyes when he smiled and the deep, throaty laugh that would float off his tongue when he found something particularly funny, it was hard not to let himself be a little vulnerable, laughing and smiling right along with him and feeling much more relaxed than he had in quite a long time. He'd already decided an hour ago that he wouldn't mind sharing his motel room with Ian for the night, as long as the man didn't mind the floor or the cramped little loveseat within the room, being as there was only one bed that was much too small to share even if he wanted to. The night had definitely gone better than expected and Mickey was pretty glad for that. 

Now they each sat with their stomachs full, smoking cigarettes, drinking another beer with their empty pie plates pushed out in front of them. Both men now had hazy, slightly inebriated smiles pressed into their faces and both of their gazes seemed to linger on each other a little more than before. Mickey wasn't sure what was behind the other man's gaze, why he suddenly seemed to look at him so softly, so fondly, but thought it best just to blame the alcohol and the fact that he had a full belly for the first time in probably a long while, that perhaps he was just thankful for the kindness and there was nothing more to it than that. He watched the redhead suck in a long, deep drag from his cigarette, then blew it out as he tapped the end of it over the ashtray on the table between them. 

"You know, you're not as much of a hardass as I expected you to be when you first picked me up," Ian observed with a grin. Mickey chuckled as he pulled a drag of his own cigarette as well. 

"Well, you still don't know me very fuckin' well. So don't get too far ahead of yourself just yet," Mickey replied through an exhale, "Kinda the same for me though," he added, "You're not nearly as annoying as I first thought you were," he chuckled, "I mean, you're still pretty fuckin' annoying, just not quite as much," he teased. The redhead laughed at that, tipping his head back against the booth seat, then peered back over at him. 

"I think there was a compliment in there somewhere, so I'll take it," Ian smirked.

"Whatever helps you fuckin' sleep at night, man," Mickey shrugged as he swallowed his last sip of beer. Ian finished off his beer as well, then took one last puff from his cigarette before crushing the filter into the ashtray. 

"Speaking of sleep," Ian said, "Would you mind if I could maybe crash in your car?" he asked, "I'm sure it'd be much more comfortable than the pavement in the alley," he said with a glance out the window, "And I promise I won't steal it in the middle of the night. I just wanna sleep," Ian assured. The dark haired man chuckled at that, then raised a single eyebrow. 

"Did you forget already that I bought a fuckin' room?" Mickey queried back. The redhead looked a little confused, crinkling his forehead and raising an eyebrow of his own. 

"A room with one bed," he reminded. The other man gave a confirming nod as he sucked in another drag of smoke. 

"There's a couch in there too," Mickey reminded as well, "Unless you'd prefer the floor?" he offered with an exhale and a smirk. 

"You'll let me share your room with you?" Ian asked with surprise, earning him a chuckle and a single nod of the other man's chin. 

"Unless you plan on stabbin' me in the chest with that big ass fuckin' blade in your boot while I sleep?" Mickey queried, "Because if you are, then I take the offer back," he grinned. The other man grinned as well, obviously very grateful for the gesture and gave his head a very insistent shake. 

"No, definitely not," Ian assured, "It won't leave my boot. You have my word," he said. Mickey's eyes moved down over him for a moment in thought, then shrugged a single shoulder as he looked back up at his face. 

"Well then, yeah. The couch is yours, man," said Mickey. The redhead smiled rather softly, his eyes almost sparkling as he looked over the other man's face. 

"Thank you," Ian replied quietly, but Mickey just waved him off as he reached to put out his cigarette. 

"Don't fuckin' worry about it," he said.

Mickey then reached for his wallet within his back pocket and threw a few green bills atop the table and tucked it back away as he lifted his face back up to Ian. 

"We can go back now if you want?" Mickey offered with a flick of his head, "I dunno how the fuck you're gonna be able to sleep again so soon though," he added. 

"Well, today was the first time that I'd slept at all in maybe a week," Ian revealed, "So it's probably good that I catch up," he said. The dark haired man's brow creased deep with perplexity at that and he scrunched his nose a bit. 

"Are you serious? A whole fuckin' week?" Mickey asked, watching as the man gave a simple nod, "You like a fuckin' meth head or somethin'?" he wondered further. The redhead laughed. 

"No," Ian replied, "Sometimes I just have a lot of energy and it takes a while for me to burn out," he explained, then shrugged, "I've always just kinda been like that," he said. The other man scoffed and shook his head. 

"Sounds like some freaky, super-human kinda shit," Mickey mumbled, earning him another laugh and shrug from the man across from him. 

"Maybe it is some kinda super power and I just don't know it," Ian agreed with amusement, "I can't help it though," he said. 

"Well, if you think you can sleep, let's head the fuck back to the room," Mickey invited as he scooted to the edge of seat to exit the booth and stand, "I know I could sure use some fuckin' rest before drivin' again tomorrow," he said. The redhead nodded and moved to stand as well. 

As they walked to the door, Mickey met Lacy's eyes and offered half a wave, which she returned with a wink and a quickly blown kiss, smiling as she watched them exit the diner and make their way back across the alley to the motel. Then as they walked beside each other, Mickey could still feel Ian looking at him, gazing at him, and very hesitantly, he turned his face to meet his eyes, his expression curious, not knowing what to expect. The redhead smiled warmly when their gazes locked within the darkened alleyway. 

"Dinner was great. I really appreciate it," Ian said, but Mickey just waved him off again. 

"It's no big deal," Mickey replied, "Looked like you could use it anyway," he said. The redhead held his smile and seemed to walk a little closer beside him as he spoke again. 

"I don't think I've ever had someone do anything like this for me before though," Ian informed honestly, "I just wish I had a way to thank you," he said, though the other man shook his head. 

"You don't gotta fuckin' thank me," Mickey assured, "Really," he insisted when he saw the other man's face appear a bit worried that he had nothing to offer in return, "I don't need anything from you, man," he said. But then Mickey saw the other man's lips part, as if attempting to argue, to insist, and having gotten to know Ian at least a little bit over dinner, he knew the man was relatively proud, so he relented a bit just to make him feel better, "But if you fuckin' insist," he offered slowly, "I'm sure you'll think of something."

Ian seemed to accept that, but his gaze still lingered on Mickey like he was already thinking of a way to repay him for everything, that he still owed him something for all that he had given him today. But Mickey just looked away, in no rush to receive anything in return from him and kept his pace as they rounded the back of the motel, now walking toward the front to go back to their room. 

When they approached their door and Mickey unlocked it, the room was just as dark inside as the sky was outside and he squinted a bit as he stepped in with Ian following close behind. As soon as Mickey heard the door behind them close though, he took another step, intent on finding the lamp beside the bed so he could see where the fuck everything was, when he suddenly felt a pair of hands on his shoulders, spinning him around and shoving his back quite forcibly into the wall. 

For an instant, Mickey was shocked and surprised, thinking for just a moment that Ian might be trying to attack him now that they were alone together in the dark. But before he could react much, he realized that the other man wasn't attacking him at all, but was instead dropping to his knees and reaching for the zipper on the front of his jeans. Confused and still a bit shaken up from the sudden forceful contact, he dropped his own hands to Ian's to stop him from doing anything further. 

"Whoa, whoa, aye!" Mickey halted, "What the fuck are you doing?" he questioned incredulously, squinting a bit harder to peer down at Ian within the pitch. The redhead lifted his face, the green in his eyes twinkling from the bit of golden street light trailing in through the window and he smiled up at him. 

"Saying thank you," Ian replied, then dropped his face back down to his current focus, his fingers moving again to unbutton Mickey's pants and pull down his zipper, but the other man stopped him again. 

"Thank you for what?" Mickey blurted with confusion, causing Ian to pause his movements and meet his eyes again. 

"You know, the ride, the shower, dinner, the room. Everything," Ian replied in an obvious tone, peering up at him with amusement, seeming to be wondering if Mickey had forgotten already. 

"No, no. You don't gotta do this, man," Mickey assured firmly, restraining his own secret excitement he felt growing within his chest, quietly relishing the sight of the man on his knees in front of him. As much as Mickey didn't really _want_ to stop him, something about the circumstances of this just didn't feel right. But the redhead didn't make any move to get back up just yet. 

"But I want to," Ian insisted with a smile, then titled his head as he looked over the other man's face within the dark, "What's the problem?" he queried, "You got a girlfriend or a wife or something that you didn't mention?" the redhead wondered, "I didn't see a ring, so I didn't think there was," he shrugged, "But if there is, just close your eyes and think about her instead. I won't be offended," Ian promised, then tried to resume his motions of pulling down Mickey's pants, but the dark haired man grabbed his hands more firmly, not budging a single inch. 

"What? No," Mickey replied, screwing his face up at the other man's words, "That's not it at all, man. I'm just telling you that you don't gotta fuckin' do this," he insisted more sternly, "I told you already, I don't want anything from you," he said. The other man creased his brow. 

"Not even a blow job?" Ian asked, sounding quite confused that Mickey was actually turning him down. The dark haired man pressed his lips together, his restraint being tested with a powerful force and gave his head shake. 

"Not like this, no," Mickey admitted genuinely, watching as the redhead's expression didn't change, still just appearing confused by that response, perhaps wondering now if Mickey was actually straight or not. He took a breath and exhaled through his nose as he kept his face turned down and looked into Ian's eyes, "I just," Mickey said, trying to find the right words for what he meant, "I just think you're doin' this for the wrong fuckin' reasons, man," he said, "You don't owe me anything."

Ian paused, but still looked skeptical, like it was impossible for someone to offer him such kindness for free, without any strings attached. It made Mickey a little sad to see such an expression on Ian's face, wondering what might have happened to him in his past that made him think he was obligated to repay Mickey with his body, his mouth, the only things he seemingly thought he had to offer another person. But Mickey didn't want those things from him, not like this anyway, and he wanted to make sure that Ian understood that. 

Very slowly, Mickey released one hand from Ian's and brought it to the side of his face, caressing the pad of his thumb tenderly across his cheek, then lowered his hand to grasp him gently beneath his jaw. 

"I'm doing this shit for you because I want to, Ian," Mickey told him very seriously, "Not because I expected any-fuckin'-thing in return," he said quietly, surely, hoping that the other man believed the words he spoke, "So really, you don't gotta fuckin' do this, man," he repeated, "It's fine." He let his eyes move between the deep, bold green of Ian's, waiting, wondering if he was getting through to him.

The redhead let out an exhale as he dropped his hands from Mickey's pants and gave his brow a rub, appearing rather embarrassed with himself and sat back a little more, letting the other man's hand slip away from his jaw. 

"I'm sorry," Ian replied quietly, his face turned down to avoid Mickey's eyes. But Mickey just shook his head and reached down for his shoulders, urging him to stand back up. 

"Don't be fuckin' sorry, man," Mickey said, "Just get the fuck up." He helped hoist the man to his feet, who still refused to look at him. Ian kept his face down as he crossed the dark room and grasped his backpack, heaving it up over his shoulder. 

"I'll just... I'll just sleep outside tonight," he said, now making steps toward the door, but Mickey reached out for his arm to stop him. 

"The fuck are you talkin' about?" Mickey asked, "I'm not fuckin' kickin' you out," he said. Surprised, Ian finally lifted his face to look at him again as his feet paused within their steps. 

"You're not?" Ian blurted with a raise of his brow, to which the other man very insistently shook his head. 

"No, man. Of course not," Mickey replied, then gave his head a flick across the room, "There's still a fuckin' couch in here," he reminded, "You don't gotta fuckin' sleep outside," he said.

"Really?" Ian wondered, his tone still quite surprised, but Mickey insisted. 

"I just fuckin' said it, didn't I?" Mickey asked back, then brushed his thumb over the clutch he had on Ian's arm and flicked his head again, "Stay here, man," he said. 

The redhead hesitated, his eyes studying Mickey's face, seemingly looking for something beneath the surface that he couldn't quite see, then finally relented and pulled his backpack off his shoulder to land with a thud against the floor. 

"Okay," Ian accepted quietly.

Then very gently, Mickey gave his arm a pull, leading him back deeper within the room, before letting go and watching the redhead's shadowy form begin making steps toward the little loveseat on the other side of the room. Then he turned away and made steps toward his own bed, his eyes having adjusted to the dark, so he didn't bother with the lamp, just ready to settle in for the night.

He kicked off his shoes and pulled off his jeans, but left on his boxers and his t-shirt, then stretched a bit with a yawn. Then as he climbed into the bed, slowly turning his body to lay beneath the covers, he glanced through the pitch at the redhead who had extracted a thin, worn blanket from his bag, left his clothes and boots on and was now trying his best to get comfortable atop a couch that was much too small for his height. If Mickey's bed was any bigger, he had half a mind to invite the man to share it with him, despite the awkward occurrence that'd happened between them just a few moments before. But since it wasn't, he simply turned away and left Ian alone, figuring the man probably wanted to be left alone anyway.

Then as Mickey laid there and closed his eyes, he couldn't stop his mind from wandering back to the redheaded man across the room, thinking over the entire night he'd just spent with him and ignored the tiny voice in the back of his mind that called him a pussy for turning down a blow job from such an attractive man. 

Instead he thought about everything else that had happened, the conversation, the ease of interacting with him that he'd never quite felt with anyone else before and especially the chemistry between them that seemed so clearly there as they'd shared a bit about themselves and got to know each other a little better. Tonight was a better night he'd had in quite a while and even the end of it hadn't spoiled it for him a bit. 

Ian was something special, really special, even if he'd never admit it to the guy. And as Mickey drifted off to sleep he wondered if he'd still feel the same way about him tomorrow, really hoping that he would and was definitely looking forward to finding out. Perhaps there was even more layers beneath the surface of the man for him to discover, if only Ian would let him in to see.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!  
Sorry it took a while, but with 2 kids, late stage pregnancy, general life distractions and also bouncing around to work on other fics as well, I got this up as soon as I could. :)  
It feels a little short, but something is always better than nothing, right? :)  
I'm still editing it, so please bear with me on any typos. I'm sorting them out.  
I hope you enjoy the new chapter!  
I'd love to hear your thoughts! :D  
Thank you for reading! :D

The next morning Mickey awoke with a groan in his throat and an ache in his back from the springs within the mattress digging uncomfortably into his hips. As he rolled over, he threw his blanket off of him, then scrunched his face as he rubbed his palms along his brow. He blinked a few times, then stared up at the ceiling as the morning sunlight sparkled in through the window beside him. Then Mickey suddenly heard the faintest sound of a snore waft over from across the room and he jumped, raised his face to peer across the space and suddenly remembered his company from the night before.

He liked over to see Ian fast asleep on the cramped little loveseat, with his long limbs comically splayed out in all directions, his body nearly teetering along the edge of the cushions beneath him, clearly not having had much room to move or adjust his position throughout the night. He was laying on his back with his head tipped over the armrest and his mouth hung agape as he remained quietly asleep across the room. Mickey swallowed a small laugh at the sight of him, then rubbed his brow once more, just before he moved to sit up and stretch out his own limbs, as he turned his body to place his feet down on the floor.

Mickey let his eyes wander around the room, not finding anything out of place, then stood up to peek through the window, seeing that his car still sat untouched within the nearly empty lot. He let out a yawn as he turned back around, then hunkered down to open his duffle bag and rummage around inside. As he dug through his clothes, Mickey pushed his ready and loaded handgun aside, and reached for a few toiletries and fresh change of clothes. He then zipped his bag closed, opting to take it with him just to be safe, then stood up straight, and made steps toward the bathroom curtain to shower, just before he paused, his eyes falling back to the sleeping redhead atop the couch.

As he stood beside his slumbered form, Mickey's eyes slowly moved across his face, studying it closely, seeing that he looked almost peaceful, a far cry from the nervous, paranoid, skeptical expression the man had seemed to bore most of the day yesterday. Just like when Ian had fallen asleep beside him in the passenger seat of his car, he appeared nearly blissful, like his mind had finally been free to escape it's conscious confines for just a little while. Even when the redhead had smiled at him during dinner, let himself laugh and relax a bit, there had always been an underlining stiffness, a defensiveness that hadn't quite fallen away. But now, he just looked different, looked free and released in way Mickey had yet to see in him, and he couldn't help but just look, just gaze, his eyes slowly tracing back over him again within the early morning quiet. He looked simply beautiful.

For a brief moment, Mickey suddenly had the urge to reach down and brush the soft red strands of hair away from the other man's eyes and back across his forehead. But he also didn't want to wake him, didn't want to be caught touching him and doing something that most would consider to be creepy especially when Mickey still barely knew the redhead at all. So, instead he just blinked and let himself look for just another second before raising his face back up to the curtain, taking one final step forward and slipping inside to shower.

After he extracted his gun and placed it beside him on a small, wire rack within the shower, Micjey tried to be quick in adjusting the water, then washing his body, shampooing his hair and rinsing the suds from his body. But as he stood beneath the hot, steamy flow of the showerhead he couldn't seem to stop his mind from wandering, distracting him in his actions to get in and get out. His brain kept going back to the night before, remembering how the redhead looked on his knees in front of him, how eager and insistent he was that Mickey let him pay him back for his kindness in such a physical way. And even though Mickey didn't regret stopping him, knowing it was probably much better for both of them that he did, he still kind of wondered what it would have been like if he hadn't. He wondered if the redhead would have been any good at giving him a blow job, if it would have been half assed or if he would have enjoyed it. Mickey was sure that he absolutely would have, had the circumstances been different and it was more than tempting to try to get Ian to offer again. But he wasn't going to ask, wasn't going to act on his temptations, especially not when he had important business to take care of right now. 

It also made him wonder if Ian was actually gay, or if he was just desperate to offer something back to Mickey when he seemed to have nothing else to give. He'd come across junkies and bums in his past who were straight, but for the right price were willing to bend just enough to get something good out of it for themselves. So it wouldn't surprise him if that were the case now either, especially with the redhead seemingly being homeless himself, and obviously not used to people offering him things for free. It was still difficult not to get distracted by the thought though, wondering just how far down his throat Ian could take a cock before he began to gag, or if he would even gag at all. And the mental image it gave him made his cock twitch beneath the hot steady stream, nearly hardening him almost instantly the longer he thought about it as Mickey let his eyes close and his tipped back into the water again. 

But then there was suddenly the faintest sound of the doorway curtain being pulled open beside him and Mickey's eyes shot wide, his brain bursting back into reality, causing him to instantly reach for his gun, cock it and open the shower curtain just enough to point it right into the face of whatever intruder was trying to sneak up on him. 

When he did though, his eyes landed on a still half asleep and very unsuspecting redheaded man that he'd nearly forgotten had still been snoozing just a few feet away, and upon Ian's eyes landing on the sight of the gun, he seemed to instantly be shocked wide awake. Ian froze and swallowed, slowly raising his hands up, looking from the gun into Mickey's face, just as it flooded with guilt for being so jumpy and forgetting for just an instant that Ian was even still in the motel room with him. 

"I uh," Ian began slowly with a tremble in his tone, "I just woke up and really n-needed to take a piss," he explained with a small gesture toward the toilet beside him, "But I-I could just go out back instead," he offered shakily, then dropped his sight back down to the weapon that was still pointed at his face, "Please don't shoot me." 

Mickey exhaled a heavy breath through his nose, pulled his gun back, uncocked it and offered a small, apologetic expression as he gave his head a shake. 

"Nah, man. I'm sorry," Mickey replied, "I'm not gonna shoot ya," he assured, "Just forgot you were here for a minute," he explained as Ian very slowly lowered his hands and took a deep, relieving breath of his own. Mickey gave his chin a tip as he looked away from the other man's eyes, "Go ahead and take a fuckin' piss, man," he directed, "I'm almost done in here anyway," Mickey added, then pulled the curtain closed. 

He placed his gun back on the rack beside him and gave his brow a rub as he heard the toilet flush and Ian seemed quite quick in leaving the bathroom again. Mickey then shut the shower off and tried not to feel extremely fucking embarrassed for what he'd just done, having absolutely no intention of hurting the other man in any way, let alone trying to blow his brains out just for needing to use the toilet. He grabbed a towel off the rack as he stepped out from the shower, briefly drying his body, limbs and hair before wrapping it around his hips and he sorted out his clothes. After he dressed, Mickey then hung up his towel, grabbed his gun, stuffed it back inside his duffle bag, then tried to regain a bit of his composure as he lifted it, before he finally stepped back out from the bathroom as well.

But when he entered the main room, he didn't see Ian anywhere at all, taking a glance toward the now abandoned loveseat and noticing that all of the redhead's belonging had been packed up and disappeared. Mickey creased his brow as he set his duffle bag back down beside the bed, then made steps toward the window to take a peek outside. There he was. Ian was seated on the curb with the large green bag on the ground beside him, quietly smoking a cigarette and staring out at the empty road ahead just like he had the night before. Mickey's guilt flared as he looked at him, and a frown pressed deep into his face, feeling absolutely terrible that he'd scared the guy so bad. But he was also a little surprised that Ian hadn't taken off completely, and gave his brow another rub as he exhaled again, then walked to open the door and attempt to apologize once again. 

Mickey stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him, turning briefly to lock it just before he took a few more steps to stand behind the seated man on the curb. Ian glanced up as he exhaled a thick puff of smoke and immediately began to speak before Mickey had the chance. 

"Hey, look, I'm really fucking sorry for startling you in there," Ian offered quickly, "I really didn't mean to and I don't want any trouble or anything," he said in a jumble but Mickey raised his palm to stop him. 

"No, no, man," Mickey interjected, "I'm the one who should be sorry," he insisted, "You didn't fuckin' do anything wrong," he assured, "I'm just a little fuckin' jumpy in the morning. That ain't your fault," he said, "It's mine."

Ian looked skeptical for a moment, but then seemed to relax a little, accepting what Mickey was saying and pulled another drag of smoke from his cigarette.

"It's okay," Ian replied, then chuckled lightly, "Not the first time I've had a gun pointed at me. And knowing my luck, it probably won't be the last," he said. Mickey felt even worse upon hearing that, but just tried to hide it as he thumbed his lip, then shrugged a single shoulder. 

"Yeah, well, sorry," Mickey said once more, to which Ian gave a short, accepting nod, flicking a bit of ash from the end of his smoke. Then Mickey tipped his head toward the road, "Probably should be heading out soon though," he informed suddenly, "If you still wanna ride with again, you can," Mickey offered, seemingly surprising the redhead and watching as he raised his brow quite high. 

"Really?" Ian asked, to which Mickey simply shrugged again, then gave a nod, earning him a very pleased smile in return, "Yeah, definitely," Ian answered confidently, "I'd love to," he said.

"You wanna grab some fuckin' breakfast before we split then?" Mickey asked, surprising the man again. 

"You almost blow my brains out and now you wanna buy me another meal?" Ian wondered with confusion, earning him another shrug. 

"Just think of it as an apology," Mickey replied, causing the other man to crease his brow. 

"But you already apologized," the redhead reminded, but the other man just flicked his head again. 

"You wanna fuckin' eat or not?" Mickey queried insistently, still trying to swallow his guilt from before no matter how unbothered Ian now seemed to be by it. The redhead gave him a brief once over, sucking in another drag and thinking a bit, then eventually tipped his chin. 

"Okay," Ian accepted finally, to which Mickey motioned for him to get up and the redhead moved to rise from the curb, grabbing his bag and throwing it over his shoulder as he stood.

"You wanna throw your shit back inside the room?" Mickey asked, but Ian shook his head. 

"Nah," Ian replied, "If we're leaving soon anyway, I don't mind holding onto it," he said. 

The dark haired man accepted that, finding no reason to argue and simply turned to make steps down the sidewalk toward the alley with Ian following quietly beside him.

As they approached the diner to make their way inside, Ian sucked in one final puff from his cigarette, then flicked it to the ground. Then when they entered, they found the place just as quiet and empty as they had the night before, the pair now making steps to the very same booth they'd sat in and slid into their seats. Just as their eyes met, before either man could speak, the very same woman who had waited on them last night almost instantly appeared beside them, batting her lashes down at Mickey with a sweet, red lipped smiled on her face.

"Back again already?" Lacy smiled, "You must have really missed me," she said. Mickey simply fought back an eyeroll and he turned his head to meet her gaze, trying his best to offer a small, but friendly smile of his own in return. 

"Good mornin' to you too, Lacy," Mickey replied, "Just lookin' to get some fuckin' breakfast before we head out," he said. 

"Leaving so soon? That's a shame," Lacy pouted, "Hope you'll come back and see me again sometime," she winked. 

"Maybe," Mickey responded flatly, but just as usual, the woman seemed to take no offense to his tone, and simply smiled again as her eyes moved between the two men within the booth. 

"You boys enjoy your night?" She asked with an arch of her brow, her tone mildly suggestive which just seemed to confuse Ian as his gaze turned back to Mickey. The dark haired man scoffed and gave a very sarcastic nod.

"Oh yeah," Mickey replied, "Had a total blast," he said, his voice still flat and unconvincing, yet Ian seemed to split a small smile at the comment. 

"Not quite a blast," the redhead corrected, "Pretty close though," he teased, obviously referring to their close encounter in the bathroom this morning. The dark haired man pressed his lips together as he turned his face to meet his eyes. 

"You're just not gonna let that fuckin' go, are ya?" Mickey queried, to which the other man just held his grin. 

"I probably will eventually," Ian said, "Just not quite yet," he grinned. At that Mickey did roll his eyes, trying his best to fight down a smirk at how easy going the redhead seemed to be about it.

Now it was Lucy who looked confused, her eyes moving curiously back between them as she smacked a piece of gum behind her lips. But she seemed to move past it as she reached to pull her note pad from the pocket of her apron and gave her pen a click. 

"So, breakfast," Lucy said, "What would you boys like?" she asked. 

"Pancakes," Mickey replied easily, "With bacon, sausage and eggs, over easy," he added, his stomach already grumbling at the thought of indulging within his plate. Lucy's pen scribbled atop her pad, just before she laid her eyes on Ian. 

"And you?" she wondered. 

Ian almost instantly looked over at Mickey with question in his gaze, clearly wondering if he had any boundaries to abide by in his meal. But the dark haired man just waved him off, as if to say he could order whatever he wanted. The redhead creased his brow in thought for a moment, then gave his head a tilt as he glanced back up at their waitress. 

"You guys make omelettes here?" Ian asked back, to which the woman nodded. 

"Yes, we certainly do," Lacy replied, "What kind would you like?" 

"Load it up," Ian advised, "Give me everything you got," he grinned, causing the man across from him to mirror his expression, seeming to approve of his choice. The young woman nodded as her pen scratched against her pad once more, then looked back between the two men seated in front of her. 

"That all?" she asked. 

"Pot of coffee," Mickey requested, "Make it strong," he specified, then grasped the nearly emptied bottle of syrup from beside him and raised it up a bit, "And another bottle of syrup, because this ain't gonna be nearly enough for me," he said. 

"Okay," Lacy smiled, "Can do," she clicked her pen and slid it back inside the pocket of her apron, "Be back with your order in just a few minutes," she said, then shot Mickey another wink that was promptly ignored, just before she turned to make her way back into the kitchen.

After Lacy walked away both men's gazes slowly drifted back to each other and an awkward silence settled between them for a moment, as if neither quite knew what to say to the other. The small talk had seemed to come so easily last night after they'd both relaxed in each other's presence, but with the start of a new day it just seemed a little different. As Ian watched Mickey, his chin slowly leaned to rest atop his palm and Mickey couldn't help but tap his fingers idly along the table top, disconnecting his gaze to peer down at the empty space in front of him. But when the redhead finally spoke, Mickey's eyes suddenly snapped back up, caught off guard by the bold, yet simple question that suddenly poured out of his mouth. 

"So," Ian said, "Do you always carry a gun on you?" he asked.

Mickey looked at him, not saying anything at first, fighting hard not to let his eyes widen at the audacity of the other man inquiry. He studied Ian's face for a moment, looking over the innocently curious arch of his brow and the smooth, calm expression he bore and he wasn't quite sure how to answer. He raised an eyebrow of his own and gave his head a tilt. 

"Why the fuck're you askin'?" Mickey wondered back, watching as the other man shrugged, his chin still resting comfortably within his hand. 

"Curiosity mostly," Ian replied easily, then split another small, teasing smirk, "And I mean, after having it shoved in my face earlier, I thought it might just be good to know what I'm dealing with," he said. 

Mickey stayed quiet again, but he couldn't blame Ian for that, still feeling quite guilty for his potentially fatal impulsive reaction to being startled by him in the shower earlier. But still, he was cautious, silently debating just how much he wanted to reveal to the redhead, how much honesty might be too much, what response might leave him compromised if he didn't choose his words very, very carefully. He didn't think he had to outright lie though, not with this question at least. He chewed his lip and blinked, then gave a single, small nod. 

"I usually do," Mickey provided simply, not seeing the need to offer much more than that. But then he swallowed when Ian bravely prodded a little further. 

"Why?" asked Ian, "What are you afraid of?" he wondered. The other man's brow creased just slightly and his eyes narrowed a bit. 

"Who says I'm afraid of shit?" Mickey all but spat, his tone deep and defensive, with his hands unthoughtfully curling into fists atop the table. What the fuck kind of question is that? But Ian didn't seem alarmed by his change in demeanor, easily holding his eye contact and shrugging his shoulder again. 

"Why else would you feel the need to carry a gun?" the redhead pointedly pressed. Mickey's brow knitted together more deeply and flicked his chin across the space. 

"I could ask you the same thing about that big ass fuckin' blade in your boot," he countered thickly, but Ian just smiled. 

"I told you why I carry that," Ian replied, "It's for protection," he reminded. 

"Yeah, well, so is my gun," said Mickey, really hoping that would be the end of it and the redhead wouldn't feel the need to get any nosier. But Ian just skeptically continued to watch him, stare at him, study him, like he wasn't quite convinced. 

"Isn't it kinda risky to carry something like that across state lines though?" Ian offered, "I mean, unless you're a cop or a drug dealer or something like that," he shrugged again. 

The dark haired man forced himself not to swallow again, not to stiffen, knowing full well that he still had a few rather big bricks of cocaine stuffed inside his trunk. But he also knew that the other man had no way of knowing that and he was obviously just taking a shot in the dark. So Mickey decided to challenge him on it instead. 

"You callin' me a drug dealer?" Mickey queried with a raise of his brow, watching as the other man pushed out his lip and titled his head atop his palm. 

"Or something like that," Ian repeated, "_Could_ be a cop, I suppose," he said, then let his eyes fall over Mickey's form, considering his appearance for a moment before he looked back into his face, "Don't really look like any cop I've ever seen before though," he admitted. The other man scoffed, then split a confident smirk. 

"Maybe I'm undercover," Mickey offered, to which the redhead smirked as well. 

"Show me your badge then," Ian directed. The dark haired man scoffed again, relaxing just a bit and couldn't help but grin with amusement. 

"You're fuckin' pushy, ya know that?" Mickey said, watching the other man's eyes narrow a little, grinning just as well. 

"And you're just really elusive," observed Ian, to which Mickey raised his brow again thinking that maybe the pot should take a good look at the kettle. 

"You don't really expect me to spill my whole fuckin' life to some dude I've only known for a day now, do ya?" he replied. The redhead thought for a moment again, his demeanor still loose and relaxed, pressing his lips together before he spoke again. 

"I suppose not," Ian agreed, "But if you _are_ a cop, that's something I'd definitely like to know about," he added. The other man chuckled. 

"Why? You recently escape from prison, or some other kinda institution?" Mickey asked jokingly. But the redhead suddenly hesitated at the question, and when he answered, his gaze turned rather serious. 

"No, not recently," said Ian. 

Mickey watched his face again, noting how strangely honest the tone of his response seemed and it made him wonder all over again just what exactly the redhead's life was like, where he'd been before he'd found him on the side of the road and if he should be concerned that Ian clearly wasn't willing to share much about it. But Mickey figured, that he wasn't exactly being quick to offer much about himself either, because he had good reason not to. Obviously Ian had a good reason too, so instead of getting defensive again or trying to question him, he simply just tried to let it go. 

"Well, I'm not a fuckin' cop, man," Mickey assured, "And I'm not gonna pull my gun on you again unless you don't give me a really good fuckin' reason to," he added sincerely, "So relax," he said.

That seemed to settle things, at least for the moment. Then Lacy suddenly reappeared with a tray in one hand that held their breakfast plates and a fresh bottle of syrup, along with steamy, black pot of coffee and two empty mugs. She smiled as she placed the mugs in front of them, then presented their meals, set the syrup down beside Mickey, and finally paused with the now empty tray beneath her arm to pour the fresh, dark brew into their cups. 

"Here you are," Lacy smiled as she placed the coffee pot between the two men. 

Mickey nodded in thanks, then smiled down at his plate and licked his lips, just before he reached for the syrup to heavily douse his stack of pancakes in the sweet, sticky liquid. Ian nodded as well, then watched him for a moment, seeming to admire Mickey's enthusiasm, the sight clearly amusing to him as Mickey drenched his food in syrup. The redhead then reached over to a small basket display beside them on their table that held little packets of sugar and cups of creamer, beginning to prepare his coffee to sip on, still smiling quite openly at the dark haired man across from him. The waitress simply smiled down at them as well. 

"Enjoy your meal," Lacy said, then winked at Mickey again as she placed a delicate hand atop his shoulder for just a second, "Holler if you need anything else, Mickey," she added, to which the man just grunted in acknowledgment, obviously much more focused on digging into his food, ignoring the woman and letting her make her way away from their table and back into the kicthen once again.

Then as Mickey picked up his knife and fork to begin slicing up his pancakes, he could suddenly feel eyes on him from across the table and glanced up with a pause to see the redhead watching him. He was seated quietly with his coffee in his hands, seemingly smirking over the rim of his cup as he took a long slow sip. Mickey's forehead crinkled a bit, just before he raised an eyebrow. 

"What?" he blurted in confusion, "Why the fuck are you lookin' at me like that?" he asked. Ian smiled a little wider as he lowered his coffee mug. 

"Are your parents Disney fans or something?" Ian queried, causing the other man to screw up his face. 

"What?" Mickey asked again, even more confused than before. The redhead laughed and raised his brow. 

"Disney fans," Ian repeated, "Mickey's a pretty famous mouse," he informed, "You know, big round ears and little red shorts," he continued, "Has a girlfriend named Minnie," he grinned. The dark haired man scoffed through his nose in realization and gave his head a shake. 

"Nah," Mickey replied, "Neither one were ever much for cartoons," he said, "It's just a nickname," he shrugged. 

"A nickname for what?" Ian wondered further.

Mickey hesitated again at that. Not many people knew his birth name, simply because he never often shared it with people and he'd never really cared much for it in the first place. Save for his family, it was pretty much a secret. But he also figured it didn't really matter too much now, especially since Ian was still practically a stranger to him anyway, and in a couple of days, the redhead would more than likely be gone from his life just as quickly as he'd come. So instead he just relaxed, then took a big bite of pancake as he looked back up and met Ian's eyes.

"Mikhailo," he replied with a chew. The redhead arched his eyebrow at his reply and grinned again in a very pleased way.

"Oooh," Ian practically hummed, "Mikhailo," he repeated, seeming to like the texture of the name on his tongue, "Sounds exotic," he complimented with a tone of approval that Mickey just tried to ignore as he took another bite of food, "That russian or something?" Ian asked. The dark haired man swallowed and shook his head. 

"Ukrainian," Mickey corrected, then shrugged again, "I guess it's a family name, somewhere on my mom's side," he explained, "I don't really know for sure though," he said. 

"Why don't you ask her?" Ian asked. But Mickey just kept chewing for a moment as he kept his eyes down. 

"She's dead," he replied after a pause, "Both my parents are." 

"Oh," Ian said, clearly not having expected that response and suddenly looked a little guilty and remorseful for even talking about either of them, "I'm sorry," he offered. 

"What for?" Mickey queried, "You didn't kill 'em," he stated simply, then set down his silverware to reach for cream and sugar to add to his coffee, "Besides, my mom's been dead for a really long time, since I was a little fuckin' kid," Mickey explained, "My ol' man just croaked a couple years ago though," he added, then chuckled rather darkly, "Too bad it wasn't sooner," he said. 

The redhead seemed a little surprised by his attitude toward his deceased parents, particularly his father, but in a way he kind of seemed to understand. Giving a small nod, then grabbing his fork to tear off a small corner of his omelette and popped it inside his mouth. 

"Didn't have the best relationship with him then, I take it?" Ian observed, earning him another scoff as Mickey met his eyes. 

"You askin' me if I have daddy issues?" Mickey asked back. The other man pushed out his lip and tilted his head as he chewed. 

"Maybe not in so many words," replied Ian, seeming to wonder if perhaps he'd offended the man, but he hadn't. 

"Well, who doesn't?" Mickey offered easily as he stirred his cup of coffee, then raised it to take a drink, "You tellin' me your parents are perfect?" he asked with a swallow, which almost instantly earned him a loud, thick laugh. 

"Oh, fuck no," Ian grinned, "But they coulda been worse," he said. 

"Lucky you," said Mickey.

"Mine are dead too," Ian revealed suddenly, drawing the other man's eyes back up to him again. 

"Both of 'em?" Mickey asked, to which Ian nodded. 

"Mmhmm," he replied, "First my mom. Then about six months later, my dad followed her into the ground," Ian said, "Been gone about a year."

Mickey set his coffee cup down and picked his fork back up, feeling a little awkward at the other man's admission, not really being one for condolences of any sort. But he figured it'd be rude not to try. He tapped his fork against his plate, then skewered a sausage with it. 

"That sucks. I'm sorry, man," he said, but the redhead just shrugged. 

"It's okay," Ian replied, "Neither of them were ever really around much anyway," he said, "So I've always kinda been an orphan, even when they were still alive." 

Mickey nodded, understanding that feeling quite well, often not having anyone close to him besides his sister growing up because no one else usually ever cared much about either of them, especially their father. Living that kind of life was always tough, even if it usually ended up making one stronger in the end. He looked him over, then offered a small smile as he raised his coffee cup again. 

"To bein' orphans then, man," he said. Ian smiled as well and raised his own mug to tap against Mickey's. 

"To being orphans," agreed Ian.

The rest of their breakfast passed quite comfortably, much like their dinner had the night before, making idle, yet friendly chatter amongst themselves and relaxed together all over again. Mickey decided that he really quite liked Ian, found him interesting, even if there was still so much more that he wondered about him. But neither man seemed to prod much more, willing the conversation between them to come naturally, knowing there was no rush to reveal too much about each other, and that was okay. 

Mickey already felt a little closer to him after the brief mention of both their parents being dead, even if from the outside it may seem like a strange thing to bond over. They both also mentioned they had a fair amount of siblings as well, but usually still only depended on themselves growing up and even into adulthood. Feeling completely surrounded by other people, yet mostly all alone had always been a complicated feeling for Mickey throughout his life, and it felt kind of nice to meet someone else who understood that, as unexpected as it was. 

He also couldn't help but try his best to ignore some of the looks that he was almost certain Ian had been shooting him, not wanting to peer too far into the gazes or the smiles, not wanting to show any weakness to them. Mickey thought that perhaps the other man had just become more comfortable around him, in much the same way he had with the redhead as well, and that all the subtle gestures and expressions meant nothing more than that. But Mickey also couldn't seem to stop himself from gazing right back every once in a while, admiring Ian's features and remembering how even more beautiful they were when he'd watched him sleep earlier in the morning. 

He was definitely attracted to Ian and the more he listened to him, the longer he gazed over his face as he spoke, as he smiled and laughed, it was fucking difficult not to let the attraction distract him, at least a little bit. But Mickey knew he'd never admit it of course, especially not while he was on a business run, such an important one at that, because there was simply far too much at stake to risk anything more coming from it. So instead, he tried his best to just enjoy his company, knowing it probably wouldn't last too much longer anyway. And enjoying another person's company was definitely not something Mickey was used to, having never had much tolerance for other people in general. But with Ian, it was easier than he'd expected it to be.

Then when they finished their meals, the pair sat a little longer, finishing off their pot of coffee and continuing to talk about nothing in particular. Mickey knew they should probably get back on the road soon, but with plenty of time still to spare, he let himself relax and converse with Ian a little longer, rather enjoying his time with him. But then when Ian finally asked about it, he didn't want to seem odd in stalling much longer.

"So when are we headed back out?" Ian queried as he swallowed the final gulp of coffee in his cup. The other man emptied his cup as well and set it down in front of him. 

"Whenever you're ready," Mickey replied, "Just gotta grab my shit, turn in the room key and we can go," he said. The redhead nodded, then reached for his bag between his knees as he scooted closer to the edge of his seat. 

"You wanna do that now then?" Ian asked. Mickey shrugged, then reached for his wallet to throw a few bills down atop the table. 

"Sure," he said, "Gonna have to stop again soon to fill the tank up though," Mickey informed, "Then we'll see how far we get before finding somewhere to settle for the night." He then scooted over toward the edge of his own seat and began to stand, the redhead following his lead and standing as well. 

"Okay," Ian said, then shot Mickey as small glance as they exited the diner and began walking back across the alley, "Do I get to share a room with you again?" he wondered with a grin. The dark haired man thumbed his lip as he met his eyes for just a second, then looked back ahead. 

"Depends," Mickey replied, "You gonna try to suck me off again in the middle of the night?" he teased. The redhead chuckled, not seeming to mind the question and flashed him a smirk as he reached into his pocket for a cigarette to light. 

"Not if you don't want me to," Ian admitted honestly, then offered Mickey a cigarette as well as he sucked in a drag from his own. 

Mickey chuckled as well as he took it, then placed it between his lips just as Ian sparked his lighter once more and nudged him with his elbow. The dark haired man held a very confident smirk of his own, much more flattered by the redhead than he'd ever admit and leaned a little closer to let Ian light it for him. He then tipped his head as he sucked in a thick puff of smoke and blew it out in front of him. 

"Guess we'll see then," said Mickey.

Ian seemed to eye him curiously for a moment after Mickey said that, but didn't comment on it. Instead he simply turned his face away to continue walking next to him until they reached the motel parking lot. Mickey directed him to wait by the car, which he did, leaning up against the passenger door and enjoying his cigarette while Mickey stepped back inside the room to gather his belongings inside his duffle back and turned the key in to the front desk within the lobby. Then as Mickey dropped his bag in the trunk and unlocked the doors for them to slip inside the car, each man flicked their used cigarette butts out into the street and buckled up their belts to set out on the road again.

Then as they drove away from the motel, Mickey still felt good, really good about how things were going, not sure if it was because he had a full stomach, because he was making good time, or that before long he would finally be done with this part of his life and able to put it all behind him for good. But he also wondered if that perhaps the reason he was suddenly in such a good mood had anything at all to do with the redheaded man beside him, still glad that he'd taken the opportunity to bring him along, as risky as it was. 

There was still just something about Ian that Mickey really seemed to like, seemed to be drawn to, giving him a sweet, warm feeling within his chest that he'd never experienced before. He knew it was still far too soon to think on it too deeply, but he liked it, whatever it was. And whatever it was, Mickey was pretty eager to let it remain, to let it grow, wondering if it would develop into anything more, a little afraid that it actually might, no matter how good it felt in the moment. Even if he knew he probably should, he wasn't gonna fight it. 

This strange new feeling that Ian gave him just seemed to be worth having, worth keeping for now, even if it was probably smarter just to snuff it out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter already? Absolutely! :)  
I have been glued to writing the past few days and picked up this fic in every spare moment I've found. And thankfully my kids have complied with my muse and I was able to get this update finished much more quickly than I thought I would.  
First and foremost however, I feel the need to post a very clear **TRIGGER WARNING** on this chapter, which as many may realize is not something I normally do. But upon writing a particular scene in this chapter, I got a little emotional and needed to step away for a moment. And I figured if I was impacted this deeply by the content, others may want a heads up if you're a generally emotional person like I am. There is mentions of both abuse and murder in this chapter, but both are very essential to the story and can't really be avoided. So, fair warning!  
Now, I'm also still editing, as I always am. You know the drill there.  
I was just super eager to get this up. :)  
Also, this is a VERY LONG CHAPTER, like easily the longest in this fic yet, which I hope kinda makes up for the last one being kinda short.  
Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the update and please do not hesitate to share your thoughts with me! I always look forward to your comments so very, very much! :)  
And as always thank you for reading! :)

After Ian and Mickey had left the motel, both men still just kept talking, making jokes, sharing laughs, exchanging banter and flashing each other subtle grins and glances along the way. Mickey had really been letting his guard down despite his better judgement, but he just couldn't seem to help it. Ian just seemed to have this weird affect on him, though he wasn't stupid enough not to show at least a little restraint. He remained quite relaxed more often than not though, still open to just enjoying his time with the man, for however much longer it was going to last as they passed through a few small towns with lots of nothing in between. They'd only driven for about two and a half hours however, before Mickey had to pull into a gas station to fill his gas tank back up.

The gas station they stopped at was a little place off the side of a dirt road, with only two pumps outside and it was in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere, with absolutely nothing else around but miles and miles of seemingly abandoned corn field. It was desolate and quiet and Mickey was glad for that, not wanting any reason to have any unwanted attention drawn to him. He pulled in to the little lot and parked in front of the first pump to begin filling up, glancing toward the redhead beside him as he took off his seatbelt.

"Just gonna be in and out if you just wanna sit and wait?" Mickey offered. 

But Ian just looked away, peering quickly around the immediate area of the little building, then reached for the backpack between his knees to open and begin digging through. Mickey watched him curiously for a moment, seeing him pull a large, gray hoodie out from the bag and begin pulling it over his head to wear. He thought it was especially odd, being as it was the middle of the summer and hotter than all hell outside, but he didn't comment. Instead he just watched him as he adjusted the article of clothing along his body, then very strangely began tucking the bottom of it into the top of his jeans. Then Ian turned his face to smile at him and flicked his head toward the tiny gas station beside them. 

"Nah," Ian said, "I'm gonna go take a look inside and see what they got," he informed with a grin. Mickey just blinked at him, then raised a single eyebrow. 

"I thought you were broke?" he wondered with confusion, his unsurety growing even more as he watched Ian give a nod and held a wide, excited smile on his face. 

"I am," Ian confirmed simply, then flicked his head again, "Still wanna go take a look though," he said. The dark haired man hesitated a moment, but figured he had no reason to question him further and simply shrugged as he reached for the handle of his door. 

"If you insist," said Mickey.

Both men stepped out from the car and as Mickey rounded it to begin pumping gas, Ian very happily made his way inside the gas station with a bounce in his step, seemingly excited to go take a look inside just like he said he wanted to do. Mickey still thought the redhead was acting a little weird, but not any more so than he usually did in his short time around the man, so he just sort of shrugged again and focused on filling up his tank. When it was full, there was no option to pay outside, since the pump was rather old, so he eventually had to make his way inside as well to pay in person. 

When he entered the gas station, he saw a very elderly man behind the counter, with large thick glasses that made his eyes appear much too big for his face and a hearing aid crammed snugly into one ear. Mickey glanced around as he walked up to greet the man with his wallet in hand and saw only the top of Ian's head walking up and down the few aisles within the space. He didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular, though it was hard to tell from his current line of sight and he simply looked away to hand the old man a few bills for his gas. 

The old man smiled in greeting, and reached out with a shaky, wrinkled hand to take the payment from him, then turned to open the register and slip the money inside. He then turned back to Mickey, squinting through his glasses as he rested a pair of frail palms along the countertop.

"Anything else for you today, son?" the old man kindly asked.

Mickey took a brief look at the shelves behind the man, seeing a large display of cheap, off-brand cigarettes, some lighters and even a few small bottles of liquor. He almost shook his head, but figured maybe the old man could use the money and he could definitely use more smokes, especially if he ended up sharing them with Ian, knowing the redhead would likely run out and not have a way of buying any more. So instead he tipped his chin and gave a point ahead. 

"Two packs of smokes," Mickey requested, "Somethin' red, no menthol," he specified. 

The old man nodded and turned rather slowly to the display of shelves behind him, then began searching the packs of cigarettes with another hard, straining squint of his eyes, and a bony, hovering fingertip. Then as the man's back was turned, Ian suddenly appeared again from an aisle, turning awkwardly away from Mickey with his arms around his abdomen like he was attempting to keep something concealed within his hoodie. He grinned as he met the dark haired man's eyes for just a second, his hoodie faintly shuffling and crinkling as he moved and quickly slipped back through the front door to walk back out to the car. Mickey's brow just creased with perplexity as he watched him go, then turned his face back to the old man behind the counter who was now turning back around himself with two packs of cigarettes in his hand.

"There you are," the old man said as he handed them over to Mickey. 

Mickey took them, exchanging the packs for a ten dollar bill, then told the old man to keep the change as he stepped away from the counter and walked back through the door as well. He was quick in his steps back out to the car, wondering all the while what the fuck Ian's deal was and if he'd actually just done what he was fairly sure he had. Mickey rounded the car, opened the driver's side door and sat down inside, closing it behind him, then turned his face to the very mischievous looking redhead sitting within his passenger seat. 

Ian sat in his seat, with his belt already buckled and his arms were still wound around his midsection that suddenly looked big and bloated, like he'd gained fifty pounds in the last five minutes. Mickey's eyes narrowed as they stared at each other in silence for a half a moment, making no move yet to start his car and drive away. He let his eyes fall over the other man's posture and demeanor, then met Ian's gaze and raised his brow. 

"What the fuck did you just do?" Mickey asked with accusation in his tone. But Ian just held his smile and shrugged rather innocently. 

"Nothing," Ian replied simply, "Just drive," he directed. The other man's eyes squinted into the slightest glare, but he still didn't move yet. 

"What's the rush?" Mickey queried, to which Ian shook his head with same proud, yet goofy expression pressed tight into his face. 

"No rush," Ian assured, "Just drive," he said again, "Then I can show you something cool," he grinned.

"So you _did_ do something," Mickey stated without question, watching as Ian looked like he was just trying not to laugh. 

"Maybe," he said, looking rather proud of himself for whatever it was he was hiding.

Skeptically, Mickey turned away from him and slowly put the car in gear to pull back out of the lot and back onto the dirt road to drive away. But he didn't get far, when Ian almost instantly untucked his sweatshirt from his jeans and pulled it upward to let spill out a very wide array of various foods, snacks and candies overflowing into his lap and spilling all over floor of the passenger seat. 

He grinned widely over at Mickey as the driver's eyes widened, clearly not expecting _that_ many items to be concealed within his clothes. Mickey's lips parted at the sight and his jaw nearly dropped as he let his sight travel over the pile of food that the other man was now covered with, watching as Ian began to laugh, shifting through the snacks like a child searching through a bag of Halloween candy. 

"What the fuck?" Mickey blurted, his face moving back and forth between the road in front of him and the newly acquired stolen wares of the redhead beside him. His expression was shocked and incredulous, not quite sure how to react to the sight in front of him, unsure if he should be angry or impressed as Ian met his eyes. 

"Whatcha think?" Ian grinned, "Good turn out, right?" he asked. The other man was still nearly speechless, his face screwing up into a confused expression. 

"Why?" Mickey asked back, wondering what the kind of reason the other man had for swiping so much junk food from a frail, old man at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, especially when Mickey thought he'd made clear that he had absolutely no problem paying for his meals for the next few days. But Ian still just looked proud. 

"Because I still just wanted to say thank you," Ian replied, sounding like he genuinely thought his logic made sense, "I mean, I'm completely broke, so I can't pay you back for anything you've given me," he said, "And you won't let me blow you," he added with a chuckle, "So I thought maybe this was a way I could repay you a little bit for everything," Ian shrugged. 

Mickey just kept staring at him, blinking and beginning to chew his lip while he tried to make sense of what Ian had done. But instead he just felt kind of guilty that the redhead had still felt the need to do such a thing, like he owed him something when Mickey honestly didn't feel like he did. But he also supposed that Ian also didn't want to be some charity case, which Mickey could understand, knowing he had quite a bit of pride, just like himself. What he'd done was still a risk though, something that couldn't possibly go unnoticed for too long and that made Mickey a little irritated with Ian's decision to act so recklessly, with no thought as to the consequences of his actions. He frowned as he thought about it and met Ian's eyes again. 

"What if that dude back there takes notice though?" Mickey wondered, "What if he saw my car, figures out you left with me and ends up callin' the fuckin' cops?" he pressed, "What then, eh?" Mickey asked, his frustration suddenly growing rather quickly, but Ian didn't look worried in the slightest.

"That old guy was blinder than a fucking bat," Ian countered confidently, "He didn't see shit," he assured with another chuckle, "And when he does finally notice, we'll already be long gone," he said. 

Mickey couldn't really argue with that, knowing the redhead was probably right, but he still wasn't quite sure how to feel about it. Even if the old man didn't call the cops, Ian had still stole from him, a person who was pretty much defenseless and probably had to make up for the loss right out of his own pocket. Mickey had been a thief in his past plenty of times, but from people like that, not usually. He scoffed at the other man's response, then pressed his lips together and gave his head a shake. 

"Stealin' from some blind ol' dude with a hearing aid," he scolded flatly, "You don't got no fuckin' shame, do ya?" Mickey asked, earning him yet another laugh, with Ian tipping his head back, clearly trying, but failing to contain himself. 

"With this?" Ian asked back with a point of his finger downward to the pile of snacks still in his lap, "Nope, not even a little bit," he said, then reached down for a candy bar, ripped it open with his teeth and took a big bite. Ian then grabbed another one and offered over to his driver as he chewed. 

"Snickers?" he queried. 

Mickey just blinked for a second, a little shocked by the redhead's blatant, unrequited honesty, but then he also couldn't help but admire it in a way. He almost wished he could be just as carefree as the other man was, like nothing at all could bother him, to be able to simply live in the moment and not look back. 

Then before Mickey realized what he was what he was doing, he was suddenly laughing, tipping his head back and had become positively giggly, finding much more humor in the redhead's attitude and demeanor than he probably ever would under normal circumstances, and he wasn't even really sure why. He'd just simply been struck with a sudden shot of intense and nearly uncontrollable humor, and was almost instantly overcome with laughter for a moment, which seemed to surprise Ian, but only for a second before the redhead began laughing right along with him. Mickey then met his eyes as they laughed together with wide, amusing grins, then reached over to snatch the Snickers bar right out of his hand to open and take a bite of for himself.

Most of the rest of their drive that day was spent talking, snacking and smoking far too many cigarettes, staying mainly on roads that passed through a whole lot of nowhere. As they conversed, trying to get to know each other better, each man gently tried to prod at one another, seemingly curious to know more personal details about their lives. But both still remained pretty stubborn in not letting too much slip out. 

Ian mentioned that the dirt roads that cut through the country side sometimes made him nervous because anything could happen and no one would ever know. Whereas Mickey had replied that he preferred them and often used them when he had to make long drives because he could simply keep going for as long as wanted and didn't have to stop for too much, no one ever really being out there to bother him on his journeys. Ian had asked him why he seemed to have to make such long drives so often, but Mickey had refused to answer, simply shrugging him off, staring far ahead and keeping his mouth full of chips and candy bars so he had an excuse not to reply. The redhead didn't push it though, seemingly content in letting the man keep his secrets to himself for now, in much the same way Mickey had with him. 

Mickey still didn't know how much he could trust the man, how much he could give away without putting a greater risk on himself, at least not until his very illegal cargo had been dropped and his payment collected. He still wasn't sure if Ian would even be around for that long, or what would happen when he finally had to turn around, especially with Ian being so seemingly determined to stay as far away from Chicago as he could. So instead he just stayed quiet when the topic came up, or tried his best to quickly change the subject, which the other man never seemed to mind. Stranger or not, Mickey still had too much on the line to slip or make a mistake and keeping such things to himself was just safer, for both of them, not wanting the other man to be involved anyway when he seemed to have enough on his own plate to deal with already. 

Something that Mickey couldn't ignore though, was Ian's almost boyish-like excitement whenever they happen to pass by an old, vintage looking farm house, a wide, vast field of horses or cattle, or the occasional abstract sculpture that'd been erected just outside of some small town they passed through. He'd smile and point, and gaze out the window with his face nearly pressed to glass, admiring each scene they passed like it was the most incredible thing in the world. 

Mickey fought to hide his own smile almost each and every time, enjoying watching Ian become so immensely happy over these things, still silently almost wishing he could see things the way the other man saw them. He wondered how he was able to remain so entranced and enraptured by such seemingly simple things that Mickey never seemed to take much notice to himself. He admired Ian for that, the way that nothing ever seemed to bother him too much, like there was always something amazing just beyond the horizon just waiting for him to set his sights on it and embraced each one like he'd been looking forward to seeing it for an entire lifetime. 

He was almost tempted to drive out to other areas that he'd passed through before that he thought might interest the redhead, but figured he didn't want to stray too far off track and end up wasting too much time before he needed to drop shit off. Instead Mickey figured that by some off chance Ian actually _did_ stick around long enough for him to get his work done first, and still wanted to ride with even after he turned around, that might be the time for such things, just not right now.

By the time the sun had begun to set, lingering just along the edge of the horizon, the pair had driven completely through the state of Nebraska and were now about a third of their way through Colorado, coming up on a rather stunning view of the Rocky Mountains. It was another sight that Ian simply gazed at in awe, marveled by the scene before him and unable to take his eyes off of it as soon as they came into view. Then Mickey couldn't help but gaze himself as well, but not at the mountains ahead. 

The expression of the redhead's face beside him was something he found much more interesting, staring much more openly than he realized at the way the deep, earthy green in Ian's eyes seemed to twinkle and sparkle within the reddish, orange glow of the setting sun. It was another moment that Mickey found the man utterly beautiful, gazing ever so softly at the way the dimming light from the horizon beyond seemed to make the red of the other man's hair beam a bright, bold golden color and the freckles that speckled his cheeks seemed to turn bronze beneath his eyes. It was a sight that he silently tried to etch deep within his mind, committing it to memory so he could look back on it long after Ian was gone, wanting to remember him just like this when he was no longer here beside him. He was simply gorgeous.

Then Ian sat back in his seat and unexpectantly turned his face toward him, his eyes meeting Mickey's for just a second, catching the driver within his gaze. Mickey tried not to swallow at being caught and looked away, just to have his sight pulled back over when Ian grinned wide and arched a flirtatious eyebrow at him. 

"See something you like?" Ian asked. Mickey smirked, then looked away again, trying his best to focus on the road and not the handsome, goofy redhead still grinning right beside him. 

"All I see is some cocky, redheaded motherfucker who don't know when to shut the fuck up," Mickey replied in an extremely heatless tone, refusing to feel any shame for being seen staring at Ian the way he had. The other man pressed his lips together a bit, but his smile didn't fade, quietly studying him a little longer as Mickey just tried to avoid his eyes. 

"I know you're starting to like me. I can tell," Ian insisted lightly, "You're just too damn stubborn to say it out loud," he grinned confidently. The dark haired man scoffed through his nose, but still held his smirk as he gave his head a shake. 

"You don't know shit," he countered, then turned onto another back road that sat yet another unassuming motel with a small, country bar just beside it. 

Ian just kept smiling at him as Mickey pulled into the lot in front of the motel and shut his engine off. Then Mickey sat back in his seat as well, reaching to unbuckle his seatbelt and turned his face back to Ian who was still gazing at him in a very appealing way. He arched an eyebrow and gave his eyes the slightest squint. 

"The fuck are you lookin' at?" Mickey asked, his tone firm and challenging. But Ian still didn't seem fazed, letting his sight trail down over the other man's body for a just a second before he looked back into his eyes. 

"Will you still not let me blow you?" Ian wondered suddenly, his tone and gaze heavy and craving, like he was already visualizing the act within his mind, perhaps wondering what he might taste like.

Mickey fought back a shudder at the words, more than tempted to finally give in and just pull his cock out right there to let the other man do it where they sat. But he didn't want any misunderstood implications to arise if he did, not wanting to let Ian think that it's all he wanted from him, that he was using him like some object for his own pleasure and nothing more than that. Instead he remained strong and raised another eyebrow in reply. 

"Why are you so eager to get my cock down your throat?" Mickey queried back, watching as the redhead licked his lips and arched an eyebrow of his own. 

"Because I think if you'd just let me, I could ruin you for anybody else who tries," Ian replied in a deep, firm tone, and Mickey couldn't control the other shudder that arose from hearing it, "But I can't prove it, because you won't let me show you," he said. The other man's restraint was being tested again, painfully, but still he stayed strong. 

"You sound pretty fuckin' sure of yourself," Mickey noted, to which the redhead only smiled wider. 

"Oh, I am," Ian replied smoothly, then creased his brow a bit, "What's the problem? Do you _not_ like getting your dick sucked or something?" he asked, to which the other man couldn't help but laugh, splitting a very incredulous expression at the question. 

"What kinda dude doesn't like gettin' his dick sucked?" Mickey chuckled absurdly. 

"Well then, what is it?" Ian pressed, "Is it because I'm a guy?" he wondered, but Mickey shook his head. 

"No, that ain't it either," he assured, that response seemingly intriguing the other man quite a bit, but still Ian waited. "I just-," Mickey tried, then pressed his lips together with a pause and tried again, "I don't want you to feel fuckin' obligated, man," he explained as best he could, "You don't have to trade me fuckin' favors for givin' you a lift and buyin' you a couple of meals," Mickey continued, then shrugged a bit, "I'm not that kinda guy," he said. The redhead blinked, considering his words for a moment, then parted his lips to speak. 

"What if I'm just asking because I _want_ to though?" Ian queried, "Not as pay back for anything," he said, "Then can I do it?"

Mickey exhaled through his nose and looked at him, peering across the small space at the other man's genuine expression. Ian sounded like he was being honest, but Mickey still just didn't feel quite right about it, as much as he really did want to take the redhead up on his offer. He tilted his head and held his eye contact. 

"Why don't we just wait and see what happens?" offered Mickey. Then before Ian could object any further, unsure if was going to object at all, Mickey gave a point of his finger to the dinghy little building beside the motel, "Wanna get a drink?" he asked suddenly, "Play some pool?" 

Ian turned his face toward the bar, seeing the brightened beer signs within the windows and hearing the mild blare of shitty jukebox music wafting out from inside. He studied the building for a moment in thought, like he was carefully considering something, then finally turned back to face Mickey, smiled and gave a single nod. 

"Sure," said Ian.

At that, both men stepped out from the vehicle once again and closed the doors behind them. Again Mickey noticed Ian trying to glance subtly around the lot, seemingly searching for something unknown, but seemed to settle fairly quick and look back ahead. Mickey made no comment on it, but he still wondered why the redhead kept doing that, what he was looking for, but brushed it off just as quickly. 

They walked beside each other up to the front entrance of the bar and made their way inside, where the music got much louder than before, along with drunken chatter and ruckus of the crowd of patrons crammed within. The air was thick and hazy, filled with misty, bluish smoke, and the lights were fairly dim. There was a long stretch of bar along one wall that had a few lone men seated in front of it, their heads dipped to the shoulders and sat nursing glasses of booze. There was a small clutter of tables near the middle of the room and a pair of pool tables beside the jukebox on the other side. Each table was filled with men and women drinking heavily, talking and laughing among their individual groups. Mickey noted that one of the pool tables were open for use, and he turned his face toward Ian to give his head a flick over toward it. 

"If you wanna go claim that fuckin' pool table before it fills up, I'll grab us a couple beers?" Mickey offered. 

But then Mickey paused as he watched Ian's face seemingly scanning the space around them once more. His gaze seemed a little different now though than it had outside, now clearly searching for something else entirely. Then Ian's sight paused on a balding, older man who sat alone at the bar, wearing a worn out suit and had a necktie that slung loosely down the front of his chest. He looked gloomy and lonely, and had a pink, fruity looking drink resting on the bartop in front of him. The redhead smirked a bit, then looked back at Mickey and flicked his head over toward the pool table as well. 

"Why don't you go ahead instead," Ian directed, "Think I might be able to save you a little money on booze," he said with a tip of his brow toward the bar. 

Mickey suddenly felt a little uncomfortable with whatever Ian was considering, peering toward the old man that the redhead had his sights set on for just an instant, then arched an eyebrow back at him. 

"The fuck you mean?" Mickey queried, "I don't mind payin'," he assured quickly, but Ian seemed determined. 

"No, really," Ian insisted, "Just go hang out at the pool table for a bit," he advised, "Give me five minutes and I'll be right over," he said, though Mickey didn't quite move. 

"Where the fuck you goin'?" Mickey asked further, his tone hardening a bit, like he really, really didn't want Ian to go do whatever this was. But Ian just met his eyes with an expression that was seemingly telling him not worry, that he knew what he was doing. 

"Just over to the bar," Ian replied simply, then creased his brow just slightly, "If you wanna keep an eye on me while I do, then go right ahead, dad," he chuckled without shame, "But I'll be right back," he said, "Just give me a minute."

He didn't give Mickey a chance to say anything more before walking away and over to the bar just like he said he would. The dark haired man frowned as he watched the redhead approach the empty stool beside the older man and sat down, catching the old man's gaze and seeing him suddenly smile in a very pleased way. The old guy had instantly straightened his posture and leaned toward Ian to say something, who nodded, then called the bartender over to pour the young man a drink. 

Mickey unthoughtfully grit his teeth as he stared across the bar, suddenly thinking Ian was kind of an asshole who had a hell of a lot of nerve to ditch him for some wrinkly, old fart just to get a free drink when Mickey had already offered to buy him one himself. Maybe it was because Mickey kept turning down his advances, or perhaps he'd bored the man in some way during their drive? But whatever the reason, Mickey just tried not to care and turned in his place to walk over to the still empty pool table, regardless of whatever the redhead was doing.

Mickey grabbed a pool cue from the rack beside it, then slipped a few quarters into the table to dispense the billiards and began setting them up on the table. But as he did, he couldn't fight the nagging distraction of the redhead still seated on the other side of bar, glancing up to peer back over at him, watching as Ian laughed when the old man beside him seemingly cracked a joke. Mickey frowned again, simply seething on the inside, but forced himself to look away as he grasped the cue ball and set it up to break the billiards. 

Just after he did, Mickey straightened back up and decided to light up a cigarette, pausing to reach inside his pocket and fish out his pack. Then as he pulled a thick drag and blew it out, his sight fell back across the bar yet again and began to glare when he saw Ian reach over to place his hand gently atop the forearm of the old man beside him. Mickey felt disgusted with what he was seeing and had half a mind to tell him off, cuss him out and leave the redhead there in the bar if he even dared to make his way back over to the pool table at any point in the night. But only a few more minutes passed and Mickey took another shot, sinking a striped ball within the corner pocket of the table when he looked up again and saw Ian peering across the bar at him this time instead. 

Ian met his eyes and subtly raised a single finger, telling Mickey to wait just one more moment, when he looked away and put his attention back on the geezer beside him. Then Mickey's brow creased when the older man made a gesture for Ian to lean closer to him, which he did but only long enough to not only hear whatever the old man had to say, but to also reach forward very carefully, dip his hand inside the pocket of his suit jacket and very slowly extracted the man's wallet. Ian then pulled his hand back, pushed the wallet down into his own pocket in the back of his jeans and leaned away again, shaking his head in response, then began to stand up. 

The redhead seemingly thanked the unknowing man for the drink, tipping it toward him before swallowing down the last little sip, then turned toward Mickey with a wide, accomplished smile on his face and strode right over to where he was playing pool. The dark haired man split a sly smirk of his own in realization, keeping his eyes on Ian as he approached. Ian then pulled the wallet back out from his pocket, opened it up and pulled out all the cash inside, smacking it down atop the corner of the pool table and tipped his chin with pride. 

"Drinks are on me," Ian said. Mickey still held his smirk, impressed by the other man's shamelessly daring gaul and gave his head a shake. 

"You fuckin' thief," Mickey scolded lightly with a chuckle, "Just can't keep your fuckin' hands to yourself no matter where you are, eh?" he asked, then picked up the bills to quickly count through, then shoved them inside his pocket. The redhead laughed and raised his palms, waggling his fingers around with a grin still stuck to his face. 

"Sticky fingers. What can I say?" Ian shrugged, "This is how I survive, Mickey," he informed him, "Sure beats any other way I know to make money at least" he said. The other man raised his brow. 

"Oh yeah?" Mickey said, "He offer you another way then?" he wondered, obviously asking about whatever the old man had whispered in his ear. The redhead gave a nod, then pulled a very distasteful expression. 

"Wanted me to let him suck my dick in the alley out back," Ian replied, "But I told him I wasn't interested," he said. Mickey scoffed with humor, secretly really happy that Ian had turned the man down, then raised his brow again. 

"What, you don't like gettin' your dick sucked?" Mickey teased, earning him a laugh. 

"What kinda guy doesn't like getting his dick sucked?" Ian asked back in the same teasing tone, both of them now laughing all over again. Then Ian shrugged once more, "Just figured if I was gonna let anyone put my cock in their mouth, I already have someone else in mind," he said, letting his sight trail down over Mickey in a very appealing way, just before he reached to grab the pool stick out of the other man's hand and glanced down at the table to find a shot to make. 

Mickey swallowed. The mental image that was suddenly invading his brain sent a staticy rush of tingles down along his spine and he just tried not to let himself grow hard at the thought. For a second he wondered if Ian's cock was just as big and thick as the rest of his body seemed to be if he hadn't clearly lost so much weight from his lack of eating. But he pushed the thought from his mind as quickly as he could and refused to let any weakness show. Instead he just scrunched his face and shook his head. 

"Man, what is it with you and the dick suckin'?" Mickey wondered with a chuckle, to which the redhead just shrugged as he took a shot and sunk a solid colored billiard into the side pocket of the table. 

"I'm just really into cock," Ian replied honestly, "Always have been," he added casually, "Can't really help it," he said, causing Mickey to raise his eyebrow a bit. 

"How do you know if _I_ am or not though?" Mickey asked, to which the redhead's forehead crinkled into a crease between his eyes as he looked at him curiously. 

"Aren't you?" Ian asked back. Mickey chewed his lip and kept his eyebrow arched, hesitating for a moment before grabbed the pool stick from Ian, then looked down at the table in search of another shot to line up.

"Would that be a fuckin' problem?" Mickey wondered, not looking up as he rounded the table and refused to look back into Ian's face. 

"Would _what_ be a problem?" Ian queried with confusion. 

The dark haired man kept his eyes down for another moment, hesitating again, because even if he didn't necessarily hide his sexuality anymore, not since his father died, it wasn't exactly something he was shouting from the rooftops either. He took another shot, but didn't sink any balls, cursing under his breath before he finally looked back up. 

"That I'm gay," he answered finally, sucking in a drag of smoke and almost holding his breath as he waited for a response. 

But then Ian just screwed his face up and began to laugh, causing Mickey to blink at him a few times, not sure if he should be offended or not by the redhead's sudden burst of humor. The redhead met his eyes, brought a palm to his chest and calmed, pushing out a heavy, amused exhale and looked at him like he was nuts. 

"I've practically been begging you to let me suck you off since yesterday, and you thought I'd have a problem with you being gay?" Ian queried absurdly, incredulously, like it was one of the absolute dumbest things he'd ever heard. 

Mickey was quiet again for a moment as he exhaled and thumbed his lip, glancing around for a second to make sure no one within ear shot was paying attention to their conversation, then averted his eyes.

"Well, I've known plenty of straight dudes who will suck a dick for the right price, but still bash a fag if one happens to make a fuckin' pass at him," Mickey replied honestly, "So you never know for sure," he shrugged. 

"What kinda dudes are those?" Ian chuckled. 

"Junkies mostly," said Mickey, to which the redhead pulled his face back a bit and raised his brow. 

"So you're calling me a junkie?" Ian asked, to which the other man instantly shook his head with insistence. 

"What? No, no, no," Mickey blurted out quickly, "I'm just-," he began, then stopped, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose with frustration, "I dunno what the fuck I'm sayin', man," he breathed, "Nevermind. Just shoot," he said with a point toward the pool table as he passed the pool cue back again.

Then it was Ian who stayed quiet for a moment, watching Mickey within his discomfort, then grasped the cue and looked away to take a shot of pool as directed. When he stood back straight, watching the billiards as they rolled around the table and bumped into each other, he took a step to stand beside Mickey, leaning toward him to speak in a slightly lower tone of voice. 

"Well, I'm not a junkie and I'm not straight either," Ian informed him, his voice full of honest sincerity, "So if you haven't already figured that out on your own, now you know for sure," he said.

Mickey met his eyes for just a second, then looked away again, not sure what to say, having been left nearly speechless by the admission the redhead had given him. Did that mean Ian was gay too? It sure as fuck sounded like that's what he meant, and Mickey almost couldn't believe it. Maybe he'd just been in denial about the other man's preferences, not wanting himself to get any more distracted by Ian than he already was. But fuck, was he distracted more than ever now, knowing that if he wasn't careful, the possibility of getting fucked for the first time in a long time, especially by someone as attractive as Ian was, had suddenly become all the more real for him. It made him antsy and nervous, and Mickey suddenly felt like he was standing much too close to the redhead, able to smell him, almost taste him, the scent of his pheromones beginning to tingle within his pores, unsure if he could fully compose himself now. 

He swallowed hard, then tried not to let his hands tremble as he chanced another shot at a billiard, missing every pocket completely once again and handed the pool cue back to Ian as he took a step away. 

"I need a fuckin' drink," Mickey mumbled as he walked right past the other man and made his way over to the bar.

He took a deep breath, pulled another drag from his cigarette then crushed into an ashtray atop the bartop, all the while ignoring the old man who was still seated in a stool nearby and was now searching his pockets for his missing wallet. Mickey tapped his knuckles against the polished wood and gave a whistle to get the bartender's attention, requesting a shot of whiskey and a beer, then pointed across the way toward the pool table where the redhead stood debating another shot. He downed his shot of booze and told the man to keep them coming, as well as another for his companion, then strode back over to Ian again with two bottles of beer in his hands. The dark haired man handed one to Ian, who took it and smiled, then pointed down at the table in front of them as he offered over the pool stick. 

"Your turn," said Ian.

After a while, both men relaxed yet again, working their way through three games of pool, a few too many beers and a handful of shots, before they finally wandered over to a table to sit. The pair had since sparked more cigarettes to smoke and sat across from each other talking rather easily, just like they'd seemed to be doing more and more since meeting on the side of the road yesterday afternoon. Both Ian and Mickey had become fairly inebriated, but not yet impaired, each sporting hazy grins and glossy gazes as they spoke quietly amongst themselves. 

Then Ian took a drink from his beer and Mickey watched quite openly as he swallowed, his eyes tracing the curve of the redhead's Adam's apple within his neck as it bobbed with each gulp. The redhead set his beer atop the table and grinned as he rested his chin within his palm. 

"Tell me a secret," Ian said, earning him a scoff and a chuckle as Mickey creased his brow. 

"What are we, twelve?" Mickey replied, "The fuck you mean tell you a secret?" he asked. 

"I mean, tell me something that I don't know about you," Ian clarified, but the other man just split a smirk. 

"There's a lot you don't fuckin' know about me," Mickey responded in an obvious tone, causing Ian to press his lips together and tilt his head to the side. 

"Something that I don't know, that not a lot of other people know either," he tried again, not letting the other man out of the request quite so easily. 

The dark haired man thought for a moment, sliding the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip, then bit it as he turned the spout of his beer bottle over within his hands. Mickey tried to think of something to tell him, perhaps something light and easy, but all that came to mind weren't easy things at all, much darker in fact, more menacing, things he'd rather just forget about. But against his better judgement, and along with the helping hand of his consumption, he let one of these thoughts slip out, sharing something rather personal with Ian that he probably normally wouldn't have. 

"I was married once," Mickey revealed suddenly, earning him a very surprised expression, as Ian's lips parted, his eyebrows rose high and he lifted his chin up out of his palm.

"Really?" Ian asked, to which Mickey took a long slow drink from his beer, nodding as he swallowed, "To a guy?" the redhead wondered, but the other man shook his head. 

"No," Mickey replied, "It was to a woman," he said.

"Oh," Ian said, then flashed him a smirk, "Before you knew you were gay?" he wondered, but the other man just shook his head again. 

"No, I've always known I was gay," Mickey countered easily, "So did she," he added, which seemed to confuse the other man a bit. 

"Why'd you two get married then?" Ian queried, to which the dark haired man gave a shrug. 

"Didn't really have much of a choice," replied Mickey. Ian arched an eyebrow. 

"Shotgun wedding or something?" Ian wondered. 

"No, not exactly," said Mickey. 

Ian still looked confused, creasing his brow rather deeply as he stared at him and blinked, clearly trying to make sense what the other man meant. Then he took a sip of his beer and arched an eyebrow again. 

"Well, whatever the reason, this really doesn't sound like a secret," Ian replied, "Didn't people know that you were married to her?" he asked, and Mickey gave a nod. 

"Yeah, people knew I was married to her," Mickey agreed, then gave his head a tilt, "The reason why though, not so much," he said. 

"Why then?" Ian queried. 

"Because I'm gay," replied Mickey. 

Ian held his expression in silence, waiting to hear more, if the other man was willing to share more. Mickey sighed, then took a sip of beer, swallowing slowly as he thought about what'd happened in his past, something he never liked to speak about to anyone at all. It was one of the big reasons that Mickey had grown to hate his father as he got older, and the older he got, it was a reason his hatred grew even more until he'd eventually begun to despise the man and the way his father had always made him feel ashamed of who he was. Like there was something wrong with Mickey that needed to be fixed and Terry had never let him live it down. As he turned the spout of his beer over within his fingertips again, he kept his eyes downward upon the table, thinking very carefully about how he was going to explain, then took a deep breath. 

"My dad fuckin' hated gay people, more than almost anything else," Mickey began, "Used to get real drunk, then roam around the alleys behind the gay bars just to find fags to beat to death. He always thought it was such a fun thing to do," he said, his voice low, quiet and filled with disdain, "Tried to raise me to be the same way, same with all my brothers. So for a long time, I just went along with it and tried my best to hide the fact that I was gay too because I was scared that if he ever found out, he'd kill me, just like all the others," he continued, then pulled a thick drag of smoke from his cigarette and blew it out through his nose. 

"Hid it real good for a while," Mickey said, "Used to find real easy, slutty chicks around the fuckin' neighborhood that'd let me fuck 'em without any hassel in tryin', just so it looked like that's what I was into," he explained, "And for a long time, no one questioned it because I played the part well enough, I guess," Mickey shrugged as Ian gave him his complete and full attention, listening quietly and thoughtfully to every word he said. 

"But then one night right after I turned eightteen, my dad went lookin' through all the shit in my room tryin' to find smokes when he was drunk, because he'd ran out of his own," Mickey informed him, "Came across some really crude, hand drawn gay porno that I'd made a couple years before, stuffed away near the back of my underwear drawer," he continued, "I dunno why I was stupid enough to keep somethin' like that in the first fuckin' place," Mickey shrugged in hindsight, "Guess I was just tired of usin' my imagination when I'd jerk off, so I gave myself somethin' to look at," he said, then took another sip of beer. 

"When he found it though, he lost his fuckin' mind, man," Mickey breathed, then sucked in another puff of smoke and blew it back out, "Tore my whole room apart tryin' to see if I had any more hidden anywhere. But when he couldn't find nothin' else, he just waited for me to come home," he said, "And when I finally did, I got the ass whoopin' of my fuckin' life," Mickey continued, looking up to meet Ian's eyes for just a second. 

"I've never been fuckin' beat like that before, man. And I've been jumped quite a few times growin' up," he explained, "It was like he didn't even fuckin' care anymore if I was his son or not. I was just some other fag that needed a bashing and he was gonna give it to me," said Mickey, "Pissed my fuckin' pants he beat me so bad. Thought I was gonna die, so I just gave up, stopped fightin' back and let him do it." He flicked a bit of ash of the end of his cigarette and averted his eyes from Ian again. 

"He knocked my ass fuckin' unconscious," Mickey revealed, then shook his head a bit, "Dunno how long I was out for, but when I woke up, he'd dragged my ass out to the whore house that he liked to spend a lot of time at," he said, still feeling Ian's eyes on him as he spoke, causing him to swallow again nervously before he could continue, "I could hardly even open my eyes, could barely fuckin' move, but I already had a pretty good idea of what he was gonna do." Mickey took a sip from his beer and swallowed, "It was worse than I thought though."

"He called out all the girls that weren't workin' at the time and told 'em all that I was a filthy fuckin' faggot that needed correction," Mickey frowned deeply, "Then paid 'em all to run a fuckin' train on me until I wasn't gay anymore," he said, glancing up to see Ian's parted lips and mortified expression, and he looked back down, "There were eight or nine of 'em all together, I think," he added with a thoughtful crease of his brow, pressing his lips together as he forced himself to try and remember, "I stopped countin' after the first three though, because I just didn't wanna fuckin' be there, tried to tune it out and just wait for it to be over," Mickey admitted. 

"Then when they got done, my dad asked me if I thought I was fuckin' fixed or not," he scoffed darkly, "And still bein' scared that if I said no, he'd either beat me into a coma, or keep callin' out girls to ride me dry, I told him that I was," Mickey said, "I just wanted it to fuckin' stop," he added quietly, feeling ashamed for even sharing any of this with another person, that Ian might see him differently because of it. Though it was also strangely relieving just to let it out. "So then he told me to pick the one I liked the best, whichever one had gotten the job done," he continued, "And I just pointed out one at random, because I just wanted to get the fuck outta there already." 

"That's when he told me she was gonna be my new bride," Mickey told him finally, "Because she's the one who he figured could keep me straight," he said, meeting Ian's eyes again, "So I married her, and I think she only agreed because not only was she an immigrant tryin' to find a fuckin' green card, but I think she just fuckin' pitied me too," Mickey confessed, then shrugged once more with a head shake, "She never tried to fuck me again after that, but would tell my dad that we fucked all the time just to keep him off my back," he said, "And I mean, I didn't treat her bad. She got her green card and I didn't care if she went out to fuck other people because I definitely didn't wanna fuck her anymore," he sucked in a drag of smoke, then crushed the filter of his cigarette into the ashtray between them as he exhaled, "So I guess it worked out as best as it could have."

There was silence for a moment after that, with Ian still just appearing absolutely horrified with everything Mickey had told him, but also saddened by what he'd gone through, like it'd been hard for him to hear. The only sounds were the other bar patrons around them and the music still playing from the jukebox, yet it felt unusually quiet within the space between them. Then Mickey lifted his eyes, trying to hide his shame and met Ian's sympathetic gaze, and the redhead exhaled a breath. 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Mickey," Ian whispered, "I'm so sorry you went through that," he said, "Your father sounds fucking sadistic." The dark haired man took another sip from his beer and shrugged. 

"Yeah, well, the fucker's dead now," Mickey replied simply, "And as soon as he died, she and I divorced. Then she married some other dude right after we split so she could keep her green card and I was finally fuckin' free," he informed him, smiling just a little bit, "Free from _that_ shit at least," he mumbled, not wanting to share the fact that he was still shackled to other obligations that his father had left behind for him to deal with.

"Wow," Ian said, "I just- I don't even know what to say," he admitted, earning him a scoff and a chuckle, with Mickey trying his best not to dwell on his traumatic past any more tonight. 

"Not the kinda secret you were expectin' to hear, eh?" Mickey asked with a raise of his brow, causing the other man to shake his head. 

"Honestly, no," Ian confirmed, "Not at all," he said, "I thought maybe you were gonna tell me that you secretly like to dress up in drag or something," he shrugged, to which Mickey let slip a rather loud laugh. 

"Nope, nothin' like that," Mickey replied with a head shake, "Sorry to disappoint ya," he said, then pulled out another cigarette from his pack atop the table to light and suck on with a grin, "You got a secret for me now?" Mickey wondered, "I don't wanna be the only fuckin' one spillin' this kinda bullshit tonight," he exhaled.

Ian paused, hesitating a little, then crushed his cigarette butt into the ashtray as he took another drink from his beer, seeming to think rather hard for moment. Then he met his eyes again. 

"Are you sure wanna hear any of it?" Ian asked, "I have a lot of secrets like that," he said. Mickey took another puff of smoke into his lungs and exhaled. 

"After what I just told you, do you really think I'd judge you for whatever they are?" Mickey asked back, "If you're willing to tell me, I'm sure I could handle it," he said. The redhead thought again for moment, then blinked. 

"I used to be a whore," Ian replied, causing the other man to crease his brow. 

"That in a metaphorical sense, or a literal sense?" Mickey queried. 

"Literal," Ian replied, "Very literal," he said, "The kinda whore that you pay a little money for, use up as much as you can, then throw them away without a second thought," he elaborated with another blink, "But I'm not anymore," he assured.

Mickey wasn't quite sure what to say to that, having not been expecting anything quite like that to come out of Ian's mouth. Sure, he may have guessed that the man had been involved in some kind of similar lifestyle, picked up a few hints since meeting him yesterday, especially with how easily Ian had offered to trade similar services as a repayment for Mickey's kindness. But to actually hear it was different. He wanted to know more with Ian finally being willing to open up to him about it a little bit, and if the redhead was willing to speak about it at all, trusting him enough to let it out, Mickey wasn't going to brush him off. Mickey held his eye contact, wanting the other man to know that he was listening to him, that he cared, and kept his voice low as he spoke to him again. 

"How'd that happen to ya?" Mickey asked, "Fall on hard times and just have no other choice?" he wondered, but Ian shook his head. 

"No," Ian replied, "It actually wasn't my choice at all," he said.

Mickey stayed quiet as he considered Ian's response, suddenly feeling a bit angry at the presumption it gave him, sounding as if the other man were forced into such a lifestyle and it'd been out of his control completely. The thought made a prickling, irritating heat suddenly form behind his brow and he frowned deeper and deeper the longer he thought on it. But he still didn't speak, willing to wait and let the man elaborate without him asking any questions, because it just seemed important to let Ian get this out on his own, whatever he was going to say. Instead Mickey sucked in a drag, then offered his cigarette over to him. When Ian took it, he pulled a drag as well, and together they exhaled into a thick, blue cloud between them. 

"You know how I told you that my parents were never around much growing up?" Ian asked as the smoke began to clear. 

Mickey nodded and listened, bracing himself for any more anger that might arise from the other man's disclosure. The redhead flicked his thumb over the filter of the cigarette, knocking off bits of ash into the little, glass dish in front of him.

"Well, my dad was a drunken bum that always thought partying was more important than his kids. So that's why I never saw him much, unless he needed money of course," Ian began, "My mom though, was more a drifter, and she wasn't really all there," he explained with a point to his head, "Kinda like how I'm not all there either," he added vaguely, but Mickey didn't comment, not wanting to interrupt, "So she just did a lot of moving around and never came home too much," he said.

"When she did though, for some reason she only ever wanted to see me. Never really the rest of my siblings," Ian continued, "Maybe because I was always more like her than any of them were," he shrugged, "And sometimes when she'd leave again, she'd take me with her wherever she was headed," said Ian, "So I started traveling around with her, and that's how the hitchhiking started, because it was her only way of getting around. She never had a car," he informed, then paused for a moment as a waitress set down two more beers atop their table, each man quietly nodding in thanks and taking them. Their eyes reconnected when she left again and Ian sucked in another drag of smoke, then blew it out.

"She took me everywhere with her, and we stayed in a lot of different places with a lot of different people," Ian said, then finished off the last of his beer and cracked open the new one, "Sometimes she'd leave me with people we met though, but only for a couple days at a time and most of them were really nice," he continued, as Mickey opened another beer as well. 

"I was about twelve when she met this really well-to-do, business man from Texas. He had a really big house and went to stay with him for a few weeks that summer," he said, "Nothing really out of the ordinary happened that time though," Ian added, "He just took us to carnivals, pools and shit like that. Sometimes we'd go on vacations to fancy hotels and he'd buy us a lot of expensive gifts because he said he just enjoyed doing it," he shrugged, "Then over the next few years when she'd show back up to take me away with her again, we kept going to visit him each time." He sucked another drag of smoke into his chest, then passed the cigarette back to Mickey who took it, thinking that he might know at least a little bit of where the man's story might be headed. 

"When I was sixteen, he bought me a car," Ian revealed, causing the dark haired man to raise his brow, "Shiny, red convertible. Looked like something you'd see in a movie," he said, "And it was also around that time that my mom left me there with him and told me she would be back to get me as soon as she could," he added, then paused with sadness in his eyes, "But she never did," said Ian. 

Mickey felt a sadness hearing that as well, able to clearly tell that the other man had felt abandoned, that perhaps he still did and he just wished he could make it better, though he knew there was no way he could do that. He wanted to say something, wanted to comfort him, but before he could think of a way to try, Ian spoke again. 

"At the time, I didn't really understand why she'd left, and thought maybe it was just the same kinda thing she always did, where she really would come back for me," Ian shrugged, "But when weeks turned into months, I started to think it was something different, even if I didn't know the real reason yet," he said, then sipped his beer a bit, "Then the guy she left me with started acting different toward me," Ian added suddenly, to which Mickey felt his eyes suddenly narrow with suspicion. 

"He started offering me booze and when I'd get really drunk, he'd get really touchy feely with me," Ian explained, and Mickey just tried to control his temper as the other man went on, "Then the booze turned into drugs and they'd make me pass out a lot. I'd wake up half naked in different parts of his house," he continued, then shrugged again, "But since I could never remember anything when I woke up, I never knew for sure what was happening to me," he said, "I thought maybe I'd just taken too much of whatever he gave me, blacked out, did something stupid on my own and that's how I kept waking up in such unusual ways the next day." 

"Until one time, whatever I took didn't make me pass out," Ian said, "It just made it so I couldn't move, no matter how hard I tried, but I was still awake," he continued a bit quieter, his expression turning strained and disturbed as he thought about the memory, "I remember him kissing me, touching me and taking all my clothes off," Ian added slowly, and as Mickey listened, he just tried to control the rising burn of rage he felt within his chest, "The whole time he's telling me that I owe him for everything he'd given to me, that I needed to start paying him back for all of it and this was a way that I could," he said, "Then when it was over, I thought that was the end of it, and I starting trying to think of a way that I could escape and get away from him. But he wasn't done with me yet." 

"Not only did it become a regular thing, him slipping me a pill and doing what he wanted with me while I couldn't fight back," Ian continued, "But then he started selling me out to his rich business buddies too. Sometimes we'd either drive or fly out to a whole other state and they'd throw some big party with booze and dancers and drugs, and I'd be the special party favor that they kept in back for the guys who were willing to pay extra to have me," he informed, "Sometimes they'd tie me down and beat me up just for fun, or take turns raping me while they did it. Whatever tickled their fancy at the time," Ian told him, looking into Mickey's eyes with misery behind his gaze, like this entire story was physically painful for him to admit, to say out loud, but he hoped Mickey would accept the trust that he'd placed with him by telling it. 

"That went on for a couple years before I finally had my chance to get away," Ian said, "One of his friends made him an offer to buy me from him permanently, like a pet or a piece of fucking furniture. And he agreed," he explained, another moment of quiet falling between them before he spoke again, "The night before the trade off, he wanted to have me for himself one last time," Ian added suddenly, and Mickey had only just noticed that his hands had curled into fists atop the table, nearly shaking with anger as he tried to control himself, "I was nineteen by then, and I'd gotten so used to this routine that he didn't have to drug me anymore. I just laid there and took it, waited for it to be over. But this night, it was different." 

There was an eerie darkness that had suddenly settled within his eyes as he paused again, and Mickey knew that Ian felt the very same anger that he was feeling now, if not more so for a very good reason. Ian's brow furrowed and his jaw set tight as he looked away from Mickey's gaze and stared downward at the table, his tone becoming deep and hard within his throat. 

"He used to like collecting things," Ian said slowly, "Had a big display case in his study where he kept a bunch of expensive swords and knives, things like that," he continued, "That's where I got the bowie knife that I keep inside my boot," he revealed, "That night I took it out of the case and hid it under my pillow in the bedroom that he always let me use." His eyes slowly moved back to look into Mickey's face again, the darkness within his irises still lingering as he spoke, "Then later on, when he came into my room to do what he normally did," he said, "I pulled the knife out, and stabbed him in the chest."

Mickey felt his fists uncurl as the words left Ian's mouth, and he was suddenly speechless all over again. Ian's gaze flickered and his eyes dampened a bit, but his teeth suddenly ground together, his own anger from the experience still evident and clear, seeming to have absolutely no regrets about his actions. 

"I watched him bleed, and I listened to him beg for help as he died," Ian said, almost in a whisper, "I just stood over him and stared, until the light finally drained from his eyes and he was gone." The redhead's lips trembled and pinched together, before they seemed to force the slightest smile that slowly spread across his face, "I was finally free," he said. 

As Mickey looked at him, studying the pain within Ian's face, he felt stunned. What he had gone through himself felt like nothing compared to Ian. Maybe another person might feel disgusted by everything the redhead had said, or perhaps they'd feel frightened to be sitting so close to someone who had murdered another person in such a brutal fashion. But Mickey didn't. If anything Mickey felt proud of him, proud of his strength and his resilience, his drive to survive and escape, no matter the circumstances and steps he had to take to ensure that he did. He didn't judge him a single bit for what he'd done and if anything, Mickey thought he was completely justified in doing so. He took a long swig from his beer, then broke the silence between them. 

"So, what happened after?" Mickey queried, "You take that fancy, red convertible and split?" he wondered. But the other man shook his head as he pushed out a heavy exhale. 

"No," Ian replied, "I torched it," he said, "That and the rest of the fucking house," he added, "Didn't wanna leave any trace of me behind," Ian explained, "Then I did what my mother taught me best, hitched a ride on the fucking interstate and got the fuck outta there. Haven't been back to Texas since then."

"Been on the road ever since, eh?" Mickey wondered, earning him a nod. 

"Pretty much," Ian confirmed, "I mean, I've made a few stops here and there, but I never stay for long," he shrugged. 

"Ever think of findin' some place to settle?" asked Mickey, genuinely curious of his answer, "Aren't you tired of always bein' on the fuckin' road?" he queried further. 

"Oh, I'm fucking exhausted," Ian replied, "But there's nowhere for me settle even if I wanted to," he countered, then tilted his head some, "Not yet anyway." The dark haired man crinkled his forehead, then raised a single eyebrow. 

"Why is that?" he asked, but Ian just shook his head again. 

"Story for another day," said Ian. 

Mickey tipped his chin in acceptance, in understanding, figuring as well that the other man had shared far more than enough for now and didn't bother pushing any further. He took a drink from his beer, then snuffed out another cigarette into the ashtray between them, just before he noticed that Ian was still watching him, his expression laced with worry and concern, or so it seemed. Mickey creased his brow, then raised it expectantly, wondering why the other man was looking at him that way. Ian tapped his fingertips nervously against the beer bottle in his grasp, then spoke again quietly with question in his gaze. 

"You're not afraid of me now, are you?" the redhead wondered lowly, like he really, really hoped that Mickey didn't think any differently of him. 

The other man's gaze flickered between his own, and Mickey suddenly took a chance, reaching across the table to place his empty palm atop Ian's hand, not caring a single bit who happened to see and brushed the pad of his thumb softly over the patch of skin beneath it. 

"No, man," Mickey promised, "I'm not afraid of you."

Ian looked relieved, his eyelashes fluttering atop a blink and smiled in a very warm way, then dropped his eyes to watch Mickey's thumb slowly stroking over his hand. They shared another moment of silence, simply remaining as they were without a single care to anyone else around them. The air between the pair seemed a little different somehow now, closer, heavier, much more personal than before, like they now shared a better understanding of each other and at least some of what they each had gone through. Then after a pause, Mickey withdrew his hand and straightened up in his seat. 

"You 'bout ready to call it a fuckin' night then?" he asked, and Ian nodded. 

"Yeah," Ian replied, "Let's go."

Both men quickly chugged down the rest of their beers and rose from the seats for Mickey to pay their tab with the money that Ian had stolen earlier, then exited the bar to walk back toward the car. When they pulled their bags out, Mickey gestured for Ian to wait once again, then went inside to pay for a room for the night, this time intentionally purchasing one with only a single bed with a particular thought in mind. He received their key, met Ian outside, then together they walked down to their room and swung open the door to step inside. Then upon Ian seeing only one bed and yet another couch along the wall, he dropped his bag to the floor and gave his head a flick. 

"Looks like I'm on the couch again, huh?" Ian observed, not seeming to mind much, then began to take step over toward it, when Mickey suddenly reached out to grasp his hand and stopped him. The redhead creased his brow as he turned his face back, and very hesitantly, Mickey met his gaze once again. 

"No," Mickey replied quietly. He then set his own bag down as well, reached toward the wall behind him to turn off the light, and took a step forward toward Ian within the dark.

After everything that'd been shared tonight, hearing about the horrible mistreatment that Ian had experienced, along with telling the man a bit about his own, Mickey wanted nothing more than to show Ian that he was worth so much more than that. That they both were. Knowing the redhead had dealt with so much animosity at the cruel hands of those who saw him as nothing more than a piece of meat, it made Mickey want to show him a gentler side of things; A soft, caring, tender touch that they both seemed to have been deprived of for so very long. 

He stepped forward slowly, cautiously and released Ian's hand, only to slip both of his own around his waist, and rub them tenderly up the length of his back with a grasp against his shoulder blades. And Ian seemed to reciprocate the contact almost immediately, welcoming the embrace with a soft, slow touch of his own, bringing his own arms around the other man to hold him close against him. Both men remained still where they stood, caressing their hands along each other's backs and pressing their faces into the crooks of each other's necks, simply breathing in their scents, appreciating their touch, their warmth, their comfort within the quiet pitch. 

Then Mickey's breath trembled when he felt Ian's lips part just the slightest bit, and press a soft, sweet kiss into the side of his neck. His grasp tightened against the redhead's back, then slipped one hand out from under his arm, to smooth up the length of it, back across the top of his shoulder and grasped the nape of his neck with warm, clutching fingers. Then Ian did it again, placing another kiss into the same spot and Mickey hummed quietly in response, gently kneading the tips of his fingers into his hold upon Ian's neck, enjoying the subtle tingling that the other man's lips left upon his skin. 

Mickey then turned his own face as well, placing a small kiss of his own against Ian's skin, just below his ear as he inhaled his scent deeply through his nose and pulled himself a little closer into his chest. They each continued to press warm, wet puckers against each other's necks with their palms slowly soothing and caressing the clothed flesh of their backs, holding each other close as they did. Then Ian very slowly pulled his face back just enough to meet Mickey's eyes within the dark, each man pausing a short moment to simply gaze upon the other. 

Ian then brought a single hand up to the side of Mickey's face, clutching his jaw gently within his palm and leaned down to kiss him on the lips. And Mickey kissed him back, willing to let go, to give in, to express what he was feeling in this moment without restraint, feeling the slightest fizzle of sparks arise along the tip of his tongue. The kiss was slow and searching, tender and warm, and each man carefully fell further into it as their lips parted and their tongues met together to mingle quietly behind their teeth.

They stayed embraced this way for a few moments, before each man seemed to want a little more, and Mickey was the first to make any further move, dropping one hand just enough to slide beneath Ian's shirt, then returned it up the length of his back, quietly savoring the feel of hot, smooth flesh beneath his palm. Ian mirrored him and moved a hand of his own beneath Mickey's shirt as well, grasping a hand along his back in a strong, firm clutch. Then their kisses turned a bit heavier, breathier, more wanting, each needing to feel more of each other against their bodies and began to tug at clothes to pull them off and press themselves further into the other. 

Together they shed their clothes down to their boxers, but made no move to push things further, each seemingly content with the level of intimate closeness they'd reached for the time being. Then Mickey turned them together and pulled again, urging Ian to move into the bed with him, to lay down beside him and continue their embrace more comfortably. So that's what they did, laying on their sides, and pressing so very close together, tangling their legs into a tight, hot knot between them, with their lips still moving together all the while. 

Mickey had never felt his heart flutter and thrump in such an intense and consuming way, the heavy, beating muscle within nearly pounding out of his chest, and he could feel the steady pulse of the other man's heart vibrating against his own in much the same way. The feeling was new and it was different, so amazingly unexpected, but fuck was it incredible, hoping that this overwhelming sensation of want, of need, would never leave his body, never cease and disappear, so he could live within it forever. No one had ever made him feel even close to the way Ian was right now, and there was no other comparison that came to mind no matter how deeply he tried to think of one. And now Mickey was no longer sure how he could ever go on without it, never wanting to let the other man go if he could help it. 

He thought just maybe, that he might feel differently in the morning, in the light, but in this moment he had no idea how. Mickey thought it impossible for such a strong connection, such a strong pull, to ever fade at all and it almost scared him to think that somehow it might. He wanted Ian to stay with him, through the rest of the drive out and the rest of the way back, to stay as long as he could, maybe even forever, because he wasn't sure how he would be able to let go if he didn't. 

Deep down inside, Mickey just hoped the redhead felt the same, that what was happening within his mind, within his chest at this very moment was mutual, and that Ian would want to stay with him just as much, no matter how soon it all seemed. Because if he didn't, Mickey didn't know what the fuck he was going to do afterwards, how he could possibly return to being as he once was before Ian had walked into his life and made him feel such powerful things that he never had before. Something had suddenly changed inside of him and he didn't think he could ever change it back now that things had shifted. 

He knew from the beginning that it was probably best not to get involved, not to get attached, but now that he had, Mickey just couldn't seem to find any reason to regret it, to even try to let it go, because he just didn't want to. He didn't think that there was any way things could go wrong. At least, not yet he didn't.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a new update is already here and I'm just as stoked about it as you are! :D  
I have been simply glued to writing this fic and thankfully I've found enough spare time and enough distractions for my kids to very rarely put it down.  
This chapter is a little shorter than the last one, but much lighter in content, so I hope it will be well received. :)  
Also, I am going to be catching up on all your comments today! :)  
I have read them all and appreciate them so much, and I'm finally going to be able to reply to them all. So please do not hesitate to leave me another if you feel so inclined.  
I absolutely love hearing your feedback, as it always gives me confidence to keep going. :) <3  
I'm also still editing, as always. I really appreciate the understanding when it comes to that. I just get super excited to update for everyone, so I kinda rush to get it posted as soon as I finish it sometimes, haha. :)  
Anyway, enjoy the chapter! And thank you for reading! :D

When Mickey awoke the next morning, the room was dim with curtains still drawn, and he was wrapped up tight within a hot body slung around his back. He took a deep breath and exhaled, then began to blink his eyes open with a crease in his brow as he peered around the empty room in front of him. Then when Mickey shifted, he felt the thick, strong arms around his body gently squeeze him tighter as if they didn't want him to let go, causing him to slowly turn his face and take a peek over his shoulder. 

There he saw Ian, still comfortably asleep and breathing deeply with his head snugly pressed against the other side of Mickey's pillow, having shared it with him throughout the night. His hair was beautifully disheveled, his lips parted in slumber and the sheet they'd both slept under was wrapped loosely around his waist. Mickey gazed for a moment, admiring his early morning form, but not wanting to disturb him, the memories from the night before still fresh inside his mind. 

Even though they hadn't had sex, nor had they even removed their boxers or let their hands travel down past their hips, the experience between them had still been intimate and intense, close and personal. Mickey couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed kissing someone so much, or ever really enjoying kissing much at all. But with Ian, they'd hugged and kissed and cuddled until they could no longer hold their eyes open, falling asleep with hands stroking through hair and softly brushing across hot, smooth skin. And he'd actually liked it quite a bit. He recalled just how very much he relished the sight of the other man's eyes gazing upon him with the dark, silently hoping he'd never tire enough to shut his own. The night between them had felt simply perfect after leaving the bar, and even if it still felt far too soon to feel so close to another person, especially one he'd only known for two short days, Mickey didn't regret a thing. 

He peered down upon him silently for another moment, then turned his face away, carefully shifting again to gently pry Ian's arm from his waist and sat up beside him, placing his feet on the cold, rough carpet of the floor. Mickey let out a yawn, rubbed his eyes and ruffled his fingers briefly through his hair before turning just slightly to look at the man again, blinking thoughtfully as he gave in to the urge he'd felt yesterday. Very slowly he reached over and brushed the red hair away from Ian's eyes and back along his scalp, pausing to caress the pad of his thumb against his temple, then withdrew his hand when the man exhaled a small hum from the contact. 

But then Mickey suddenly jumped when he heard the faintest vibrating buzz arising from the pocket of his jeans that were still carelessly crumpled beside him on the floor. He stood, then quickly bent to fish out his phone, hoping it wasn't his burner and sighed with a mixture of relief and annoyance when he saw it was his personal cellphone. Mickey frowned down at the screen, then with a quick glance back once more to make sure Ian was still asleep, he made a few short, hurried steps across the room to slip inside the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He caught the call on the very last buzz, sliding his thumb across the screen and bringing it to his ear. 

"What?" Mickey barked sleepily, rubbing his eyes again as he leaned against the sink.

"Well good morning to you too, big brother," Mandy replied, "I was wondering if you'd pick up or not," she said. Mickey frowned and creased his brow. 

"Why the fuck wouldn't I?" he asked back. 

"Because I tried calling twice last night and once more about a half hour ago," Mandy informed. 

Her brother scrunched his face and peered down at his phone to see that he did indeed have three missed calls from his sister that he hadn't noticed before. He brought the cellphone back to his ear and sighed. 

"I was busy last night," Mickey replied vaguely, "And still fuckin' sleepin' when you called earlier," he explained, "What the fuck do you want?" 

"To know that you're okay and not lying dead in a fucking ditch somewhere," Mandy scoffed defensively, then paused before she spoke again, "How the fuck can you be so busy sitting in a car all day anyway?" she wondered, "It's not that hard to pick up the phone," she said. 

Mickey swallowed, his eyes flashing toward the door and thought again about the tall redheaded man still sleeping in the other room. He chewed his lip and blinked. 

"I was," Mickey began, searching for the right word, "Occupied," he finally settled on. 

"Occupied," Mandy repeated flatly, "Occupied with what?" she queried. 

"None of your fuckin' business," Mickey spat, his tone hard and defensive, probably much more so than it needed to be and he knew his sister would find it suspicious. There was another pause, then Mandy's voice wafted through the phone again. 

"Did you stop somewhere last night?" she asked. The dark haired man chewed his lip again, but responded nonetheless. 

"Just a bar," Mickey replied, "Wanted to get a drink after bein' on the road for two fuckin' days. That a crime?" He could hear his sister smile through the phone, which only made him frown again. 

"Is that where you met him?" Mandy queried. 

"Met who?" Mickey asked back. 

"Whatever man you were with when I called," she replied in a knowing tone. 

"No," Mickey denied a bit too quickly. His sister laughed. 

"Oh, yeah, that was definitely believable," Mandy giggled, "You think I can't tell when you're lying?" she asked, her smile still clear within her voice, which only made Mickey frown further. 

"I'm _not_ fuckin' lying," Mickey insisted, "I _didn't_ meet him at the bar," he said. Mickey heard her gasp and he tried his best not openly groan with annoyance from hearing it. 

"So there _was_ a man," she replied, "See, I knew it," Mandy stated proudly, causing her brother to push a huff through his nose. 

"Why is this any of your fuckin' business?" Mickey grumbled, really not liking his sister's interrogation one bit and tapped the fingertips of his free hand impatiently against the side of the sink. 

"Because," Mandy said, "I called you twice last night because you're half a country away and wanted to make sure you weren't having any problems," she explained, "I worry about you, Mickey," Mandy all but pleaded, "Then I find out you were ignoring my calls to go get fucked in an alley somewhere!" she accused harshly, loudly, like her brother should be ashamed of himself for doing so. The dark haired man grit his teeth, but controlled his temper. 

"That's not what fuckin' happened at all, Mandy," Mickey countered thickly, "I wasn't ignoring you. I just didn't fuckin' notice that you called," he insisted honestly, "And there wasn't any fucking going on anyway," he informed, "We had a couple beers and that was it." He could feel his sister's surprise at that, pausing another moment before she said anything else. 

"But if you didn't wanna fuck him, then what was the point?" Mandy asked, "Since when do you meet up with random dudes just to chat and have a drink?" 

"I didn't say that I don't wanna fuck him," Mickey corrected, "Just that we didn't yet," he said. 

"Yet?" Mandy pinpointed, and Mickey suddenly realized he'd made a serious mistake in his choice of words. Then his sister gasped again, "Is he still there?" she wondered suddenly, "You brought him _back to your room_ with you?" she pressed much more incredulously, "Are you out of your fucking mind?!" Mandy boomed, causing her brother to scrunch his face back up and pull his phone away from his ear for just a second. He then brought it back to his ear and raised a palm up as he spoke. 

"Mandy, just calm the fuck down," Mickey advised, "It really ain't that big of a deal," he said.

"Not a big deal?" Mandy mirrored incredulously, "Did you forget the entire reason you're on the road right now? How important this is?" she continued, "Or that fact that your driving around with a trunk full of drugs?" Mandy spat, to which Mickey groaned out a sigh as he let his sister ramble out her anger, "Have you dropped it off and picked up your payment yet?" she queried. 

"Mandy," he tried, but she just kept talking. 

"What if this guy tries to rob you? Do you know how big of a risk that is just letting him hang around?" she questioned further, "Are you at least keeping your gun on you?" 

The dark haired man frowned hard at her incessant questioning, her hardened, furious tone of voice and her overprotective attitude, then finally took a chance to interrupt her long enough to get a word of his own in. 

"Mandy, will you just shut the fuck up for one fuckin' second?!" Mickey interjected with a bark, halting her words in place for just a moment, then exhaled a heavy breath through his nose. 

"First of all, no. I haven't dropped the shit off yet," he began, "I haven't fuckin' told him anything about it either. So he doesn't know shit," Mickey added, "Second, he's not gonna rob me because he's not a fuckin' thief," he lied a little bit, though he was still pretty it was something he wouldn't have to worry about, "He's probably not even gonna be around that long anyway," Mickey assured, lying a little more, because he really wasn't sure about that at all, "And of course I'm keepin' my fuckin' gun on me, I'm not a fuckin' idiot," he finalized, which was sort of true at least, "I know what I'm fuckin' doin', okay? So lay the fuck off."

There was silence between them again for a moment, and neither said a word. Mickey knew he probably shouldn't have snapped at Mandy, knowing she was just looking out for him the way she always did. Not to mention she was just as involved in this shit as he was, even if it was Mickey that physically handled all the business runs. But he really didn't appreciate the way she always seemed to act like she knew better than he did, when she really didn't understand the situation with Ian at all. He wasn't just some random guy to Mickey, not anymore. Ian wasn't just some throw away that he had no other intentions toward other than to simply fuck and ditch like trash. He was more than that. Mickey waited for another moment, then he heard his sister sigh.

"You're being careless, Mickey," Mandy breathed.

"Mandy-," he began again, but she was quick to cut him off. 

"No, you _are_ being careless," his sister insisted, "But I know, I heard you. You know what you're doing," Mandy said skeptically, her tone low and defeated, "Just don't let your guard down. Because the second you do, you're gonna get fucked and not in the way you like to be," she warned blunty, "Don't get us put into an even shittier situation than we already are," Mandy advised, "Because if you do, I'll be right here to say I told you so," she said, "And I'll never forgive you for it." Mickey then sighed as well and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"I got this," he said. 

"I sure fucking hope you do," replied Mandy. 

Then just like that, his sister hung up on him and the line went silent once again. Mickey cursed under his breath as he set his phone down on the sink beside him, then dropped his face into a single palm to rub it with frustration. 

He knew that Mandy had every right to be upset, that he was being a little irresponsible, careless as she liked to put it. But Mickey still thought he had a perfectly good handle on things and she was worrying for no good reason. It wasn't often Mickey did things like this anyway, not typical of him at all, so she should just cut him a little fucking slack and trust his judgement for once. He could do this. He could handle this and he was fucking sure of that. 

Mickey then dropped his hand from his face and took a step forward to twist the nozzle of the faucet on the bathtub, desperately needing a shower so he could have a chance to clear his head and help himself relax again. He had another long drive ahead of him, and he had enough on his mind without his sister's warning lingering over him like a cloud. Mickey didn't even care to grab his toiletries before adjusting the water, just needing to stand beneath the hot steamy flow and let all else drain away. So quickly, he stepped inside the tub, pulled the curtain, then turned on the showerhead, closing his eyes and groaning quietly in pleasure as the faucet sprayed to life and began to soak his body. 

Mickey was only beneath the stream for a few minutes however, when there was suddenly a knock on the bathroom door, causing his eyes to snap wide open with a startle. He pulled the curtain back just enough to poke his face out, squinting from the droplets of water running down over his face and peered over at the door. 

"Yeah?" Mickey called, to which the door opened slowly and Ian suddenly poked his head in as well. He smiled easily as he met Mickey's gaze and gave a flick of his head toward the toilet within the room. 

"Just needed to take a piss again," Ian informed, "Didn't wanna sneak up on you this time," he said. The dark haired man scoffed, flicked his head toward it as well, then pulled the curtain closed. 

"Go right ahead, man," he said, then dipped his head back beneath the steamy flow of water and closed his eyes once more. After a moment, Mickey heard the toilet flush, but didn't hear the door open again, when suddenly Ian's voice was speaking to him again instead. 

"Hey, Mickey?" Ian said, to which the man within the shower peeked back through the curtain with a single arched eyebrow in return. 

"Did you just get in, or are you almost out?" Ian wondered. Mickey crinkled his forehead a bit and blinked a few drops of water away from his eyes. 

"Just got in," he replied, "Why?" The redhead seemed to hesitate, like he was contemplating a thought, then gave his head the slightest tilt. 

"I was just kinda hoping I could take a shower too," Ian said, his tone cryptic and questioning, but Mickey didn't pause to study it.

"Alright," Mickey shrugged, "Just gimme a minute and I'll be right out," he said, "I'll try not to use up all the hot water." 

He moved to close the curtain again, seemingly oblivious to what the the redhead actually meant, when suddenly a wide, freckled hand, caught the curtain and inched it back open a bit. Mickey looked back into his face, curious and confused, watching as the other man split the smallest smirk. 

"Or," Ian offered slowly, "We could share the hot water that you're using right now?" he suggested instead, and that's when Mickey finally understood what Ian was getting at. 

He paused nervously, chewing his lip as he silently considered the other man's proposition, secretly a little excited to take him up on it, to be close to him again and without any clothing, especially after last night. Mickey still didn't want to rush things, especially after the scolding he'd received from his sister just a short while before. But he also kind of wanted to prove her wrong too, and wanted to let himself enjoy his time with Ian in whatever way he could, his heart already beginning to speed up from just the very thought of seeing the redhead wearing nothing more than a hot stream of water down his body. Mickey still wanted to be clear about one thing though, not willing to budge on it until he was absolutely ready to take that step with Ian, no matter how hard it may be to resist and pointed a single finger at him. 

"Doesn't mean we're fuckin'," Mickey told him in a firm, strict tone, making sure the other man was content not to cross that line with him yet. Ian grinned wide, then held a rather innocent expression as he pressed his lips together. 

"Who said anything about fucking?" Ian pondered playfully, "I just wanna shower," he said. 

The other man let his sight fall down over his body, his gaze following the thick flush of red hair that spread across his chest and trailed much thinner down his abs, before disappearing into a skinny little line below his bellybutton. Mickey then looked back into his face tipped his chin and flashed him a smirk of his own. 

"Alright," he agreed, then took a step backward within the shower to make room for him.

In the few seconds that passed as he waited for Ian to enter, Mickey was nervous, really nervous. He wondered what the redhead would think of him after seeing his body in the light, having had the comfort of darkness to conceal him more during their embrace the night before. He remembered how Ian's body looked during the glimpse that he'd gotten of him in his towel, and it was intimidating trying to compare his own the other man. It's not that Mickey was out of shape or anything, and he thought for the most part he took decent care of himself, but Ian, even being rather thin at the moment, looked like the kind of guy you'd see in a magazine. He was chiseled and perfect, like he'd been sculpted from marble or stone and Mickey felt pretty average at best beside him. Then Mickey held his breath when Ian took a step inside the tub, bringing his own toiletries in with him to wash. 

Mickey's eyes immediately fell down along the man's body, fighting off a hitch of his breath when his sight paused on the long, girthy cock that hung between his legs. Even if Ian wasn't hard at the moment, Mickey could tell that what he was wielding was well above average, and probably doubled in size at the very least when he got aroused. He swallowed a curse within his throat as his mind immediately shot off in a hundred different directions as to what he could do with it; How it might feel, how it might taste, how far up his ass he might be able to take it if he tried. Mickey then just tried to control his own body and not think too much about it, not wanting to come off an ogling, pervy creep as he looked back into Ian's face. 

Ian didn't seem to mind the gaze though, smiling at Mickey as he set a small green bar of soap and a little bottle of shampoo down atop the ledge within the shower. His own eyes swept down over Mickey's body as well, and he seemed to like what he saw, biting his lip and arching his brow as he met his gaze again. Ian then took a step back to stand beneath the water, letting his head tip back within the stream and a hot flow of water ran down along his body. Mickey couldn't help but stare as he did, slicking the tip of his tongue across his lip, then biting down on it with restraint. Then the redhead turned his face back forward and grasped the little bar of soap, lathered up his hands, then made a twirling gesture toward Mickey with his forefinger. 

"Turn around," he said. 

Mickey hesitated for a second, but still complied, turning around within the wet, little space, then tried not gasp at the sensation of wide, firm palms beginning to glide over his back. He exhaled a heavy breath, closed his eyes and dipped his head as he let himself relax, greatly enjoying the feel of the redhead's grip against his skin. Fuck, Ian had strong hands, kneading and caressing so deeply, yet tentatively into Mickey's muscles as he scrubbed his soapy palms against his flesh. The contact felt absolutely incredible, and he just tried his best not to audibly groan with pleasure beneath the touch. 

Then he felt Ian take a small step forward, his hands slowly moving from Mickey's back around his waist and slid upward to wash his chest, gently pressing his own chest against him as he did. Mickey swallowed a shudder, feeling the other man's body against his own, almost aching from the contact, contact that he hadn't felt from another man in quite a long time. After almost a year without sex, whether it was by his own choice or not, he couldn't stop the sudden rush of blood that began coursing down his body and pooling inside his pelvis. 

Though it seemed that Ian felt the same rush, as Mickey noticed the feel of the redhead's cock against his ass slowly beginning to harden the same as his own. He exhaled a shaky breath and let himself lean back into him, savoring the sensation beneath the heated flow of water. Mickey brought his hands to Ian's for a moment, lacing his fingers within the other man's as they smoothed over his chest in foamy, bubbly streaks, then turned back around to look him in the eyes. 

Ian looked questioning and hesitant, seeming to wonder if he'd done something wrong, if he'd taken a step to far, but didn't seem to wonder for long, as Mickey took a small step closer, wanting to touch him, feel him again and slid his own hands around his waist. Mickey glided his hands up the length of Ian's back, stopping with a grasp at the top of his shoulders. He then pressed himself close, inviting the redhead to put his own hands back on him again, silently trying to tell him that he liked it, wanted it and Ian didn't have to stop. The dark haired man pressed his face into the hot, wet crook of the redhead's neck and exhaled again as Ian's grasp returned to his body and they both grew completely hard against each other, quietly enjoying the contact of their cocks pressed together. 

Mickey had never been with someone in such an intimate way, with no rush to take things further, to fuck and get it over with, because no one he'd been with sexually had ever really mattered to him before. Taking the time to simply feel another person, to appreciate their contact and their touch was not something he'd ever done before either. But as different and almost as scary as it was, Mickey suddenly felt like he'd been missing something before now, that this was something he actually enjoyed despite how he'd felt about it before. He'd been nervous that after last night things might not be the same between them as when they'd been alone together in the dark, that seeing Ian afterward would be awkward and weird. But neither seemed to feel any differently than before, still close and connected, and Mickey couldn't have been happier or more relieved about it than he was right now. Things still felt just perfect. 

Ian kept his hands roaming as did Mickey, sliding down each others backs, then back up again, quietly exploring every little dip and curve of their bodies without crossing any borders that might push things past the point they were now. Then Ian brought a single palm back up, gliding up past Mickey's shoulders, up over his neck and clutched it gently within his hair as he turned his face a bit to whisper in his ear. 

"I wanna kiss you again," he confessed quietly, to which Mickey leaned his face back just enough to meet his eyes, with no question in his mind as to what his response would be. 

He didn't answer verbally, but instead just leaned up on his toes to oblige, and locked his lips against Ian's in a firm, yet tender way, telling him that Mickey wanted that very same thing. Ian hummed pleasurably the instant he did and grasped his hand a little tighter within Mickey's hair, holding him there to deepen the kiss almost immediately. Each man pressed themselves close, as if neither could possibly feel enough of the other against them, their breaths growing heavy as their lips parted for the tongues to meet again. 

The tingles, the flutters and the sparks came back with a force as Mickey kissed him, making his heart pound the same way it had last night, just wanting to taste Ian, to savor him, to quench the nearly uncontrollable thirst that he suddenly felt he had for him and it was more satisfying than anything else he'd experienced. Ian's lips were soft yet purposeful, and Mickey thought perhaps the redhead felt the same as he did, the rush he suddenly felt from their embrace becoming simply overpowering. 

Mickey slid his palms down just a bit to grasp into the meaty bones of Ian's shoulder blades and held him there, unable to resist the urge to roll his hips against him. The redhead's lips parted against his own and the smallest moany sigh escaped them from the action, causing Ian to drop his hands down to the back of Mickey's hips, rolling his own hips in the very same way, sliding their cocks together between them. Another small sound escaped him as he did, to which Mickey swallowed a gasp of his own and exhaled heavily against his mouth, the tip of his tongue slipping out to slick over Ian's bottom lip, then bit down on it lightly with a groan. 

Then Mickey smacked another kiss against Ian's lips, this one rougher, more needy, then nudged his face aside with his own to kiss down along his jaw and latched onto the side of his neck. Ian let him and moaned, slowly thrusting his hips forward again to keep some friction between them, then dipped his face a bit to suck Mickey's earlobe between his teeth. The dark haired man pushed a deep, yet quiet moan through his nose and began to match his rhythm as he kissed and sucked and bit down along his neck, then tried not to hiss when he felt Ian's face move again to clamp down onto the top of his shoulder with a hard, sharp bite of his own. He pressed his fingernails roughly into Ian's back in reaction, trying his best not to simply claw at his flesh as he rutted his pelvis back against him.

Ian covered his bite with another kiss and kept his pace with Mickey's, thrusting forward just enough to make the man tremble as their cocks continued to rub together between them. Mickey mashed his lips against the redhead's collarbone, sucking a small, purple mark into the skin there, then tilted his head to rest his brow against his shoulder and peer downward at the contact. 

Christ, Ian's cock was big, seeing how long and wide and thick he was as his hips moved against him, the girth of his cock making him nearly shudder as he thought about how it might feel moving deep inside him. He was even larger than Mickey thought he would be when he first laid eyes on him as he stepped into the shower, and he bit his lip as he watched his shaft rub roughly against his own beneath the water. Mickey suddenly had the strongest urge to sink to his knees and take him in his mouth, already knowing how incredibly fulfilling it would be for him to feel this massive thing sliding over his tongue and pushing against the back of his throat. 

But it also made him nervous that if he enjoyed it too much, he may never want to stop, may never be able to restrain himself from simply wanting Ian on and inside him all the time. And Mickey still knew he couldn't let his head get too distracted, to let go too completely or something bad was bound to happen to him, even if he couldn't imagine what. He still had an urge though, to touch him at least, wanting to feel the weight and heft of such a mouthwatering cock within his hand and let slip a small moan as their hips moved together again. 

"Let me touch you," Mickey pleaded quietly, "I wanna touch you," he said. Ian turned his face back toward Mickey's ear, breathing heavily as he twisted the tip of tongue over the soft skin of his lobe.

"Go right ahead," Ian invited, "You can touch me anywhere you want," he breathed deeply, then sucked his earlobe back inside his mouth again. 

Mickey didn't need to be told twice, instantly dropping a single hand to wrap around the front of him, slipping it between them and firmly grasped a hold of Ian's cock within his hand. The redhead moaned as Mickey grabbed him, his palate vibrating roughly against the man's ear and kept his hips moving as Mickey slowly began to stroke him inside a tight, wet fist. Mickey moaned as well from hearing it, and just by watching him, feeling him, letting his hand slide slickly over him, then turned his face back up to place a wide, wet kiss against Ian's Adam's apple, yearning to feel the same vibration within his mouth. 

The redhead pushed a small curse up his throat, then dropped a single tentative hand to rest just along the edge of Mickey's tailbone, his movement hesitant and questioning, clearly wanting to touch more of him too. Mickey opened his mouth with a pant, and pushed himself closer as he stroked his hand a little faster, trying to tell him without words that his touch was okay, to which Ian very slowly and carefully dropped his hand further to grasp over the side of his ass. The dark haired man let slip a small groan that sounded almost pained, achy and wanting, and suddenly pushed his chest into Ian's, moving the taller man back into the cold tile of the shower wall and held him there, his hand speeding up along Ian's cock even more. 

"Fuck, Mickey," Ian whispered atop a shaky exhale, then dropped his other hand to knead both palms into the round, meaty muscles of flesh and seemed to enjoy the way the gesture made Mickey moan a little louder as he did.

"Ian," Mickey whispered back, then bit down sharply into the skin of his neck as he readjusted his hand to grasp them both and stroke their cocks together.

Then Ian found Mickey's lips again, and Mickey nearly melted as the man's mouth parted, welcoming him back in with a harder, rougher pucker, pushing his tongue deep within his mouth. Ian's hands suddenly gripped him harder as well, pulling his body against him by the grasp on his ass and began thrusting his cock more quickly into Mickey's hand, like he was trying to catch a high that he'd been chasing since the moment he met him.

Mickey absolutely loved the way the redhead touched him, the way he kissed him, the way he took control of him just enough, yet didn't feel forceful in any way. It made him wonder if perhaps Ian had gone a while without sex as well, or if not sex, simply without intimacy much like Mickey had, and that he simply just couldn't resist the raw and emotional indulgence they were sharing together, like he needed it to breathe.

The dark haired man thrust his cock more quickly into his hand as well, meeting Ian's movements and tightening his fist within the flow of hot water still streaming down between them, loving the feel of the other man's thick, hard cock slicking against his own. He moaned out deeply the faster he went, and Ian mirrored him, both their mouths parting in a pant as they met each other's eyes within the haze, hooded, heavy and drenched in a thick veil of lust. 

Then Ian's breath hitched and he bit down on his lip, holding his gaze on Mickey as his muscles began to tense, and Mickey tipped his face back up to kiss him as his orgasm quickly approached. The redhead moaned as his cock began to throb and pulse and spurt, and the sensation of hot, thick cum spilling into Mickey's hand, coating his own cock as well is what tipped him over the edge right along with him. Mickey moaned loudly against Ian's mouth as he came as well, biting down on the man's lower lip as his body trembled from the intensity. Then as the pair stilled, the water washed away the evidence of their mutual release, both pausing for just a moment to catch their breaths within the aftershock. 

After a moment, Ian's hands slipped away from the other man's ass, Mickey let go of their wilting erections and took a small step back, their eyes meeting again within the quiet flow of the shower. Mickey started to feel awkward again, not usually one to linger after an orgasm, let alone maintain any kind of eye contact, but when Ian smiled at him, he felt his heart flutter a little bit once again and the awkward feeling disappeared. The redhead pushed out a breath as a very cocky grin then spread across his face. 

"And you said there wouldn't be any fucking," Ian teased. But Mickey just arched an eyebrow and gave his head a single shake. 

"There _wasn't_ any fucking," Mickey corrected, "Just gettin' off together ain't the same thing," he informed, but Ian's smile didn't fade a bit. 

"I think it still counts for something though," Ian noted with a light tone of insistence, causing Mickey to laugh and tip his chin up toward him. 

"Shut the fuck up," said Mickey. 

He then turned a bit, reaching for the curtain and making move to exit the shower, but Ian stopped him again, causing Mickey to turn his gaze on him with confusion. 

"Wait," Ian said, "We still gotta wash our hair," he grinned, to which Mickey just arched an eyebrow, "And I kinda still just wanna stare at you a little longer before you get all covered up with clothes," Ian flirted playfully. The other man scoffed but still smiled a little bit at that, then stepped back to where he was. 

"Fine," Mickey accepted, then reached for the little bottle of shampoo, popping it open and squirting a bit into his palm, "You fuckin' weirdo," he mumbled behind his grin. 

He then reached up to run his hands through soft, red hair, lathering it up to scrub the other man's head for him. Ian laughed at his name calling, then mirrored his movements and returned the favor easily, a quiet, comfortable contentment quickly settling between them as they assisted each other in washing their hair and finished up their shower.

When both men exited the bathroom, they dried off and dressed, each of their eyes lingering on each other as they did. Then Ian took a seat on the couch and Mickey a seat on the edge of the bed, each sparking a cigarette to enjoy within their afterglow, though neither seemed in a hurry to speak, simply continuing to peer across the space at each other in silence. Then finally Ian exhaled, leaning forward to place his elbows atop his knees, and very hesitantly asked the other man a question. 

"So, you don't think any differently of me after what I told you at the bar?" he wondered quietly, like the concern had been weighing heavily on his mind ever since. Mickey blew out a cloud of smoke as well and gave his head a tilt. 

"If I did, do you really think I woulda let you sleep in here with me last night?" Mickey asked back, then tipped his brow toward the bathroom door, "Or let you into the fuckin' shower with me today?" he queried. The redhead seemed to consider this for a moment, then shrugged. 

"I don't know," Ian replied, "Maybe you're just biding your time," he said. The other man creased his brow, then raised it with confusion. 

"Biding my time until what?" Mickey asked. 

"Until you have a chance to take off again," Ian said, "Kick me to the curb when you do," he shrugged again, but the other man just shook his head. 

"If I was gonna kick ya to the fuckin' curb over that, I woulda done the shit last night, Ian," Mickey replied honestly, sincerely, really hoping the other man understood that he meant it, "Not shared a bed with you, then jerked you off in the shower afterward," he explained rather bluntly, "So no, I don't think any differently of you, man. Just like you don't think any differently of me, right?" The redhead shook his head as well and seemed to relax a little bit, then raised a curious eyebrow. 

"Does that mean I can ride with again today?" Ian queried, earning him a nod. 

"If you want to," Mickey confirmed, letting the other man be the one to decide if that's what he wanted, that it was his choice to make, secretly still hoping that he would. 

"I do," Ian replied with the slightest hint of a smile on his face. The other man nodded again as he sucked in a drag of smoke, then blew it out above his head. 

"Okay," said Mickey.

Ian smiled again and Mickey smiled back, then the peace between them was suddenly interrupted by the faintest buzzing from a cellphone coming from Mickey's jeans that still lay discarded on the floor. Mickey jumped, knowing that his personal cellphone had already been moved to his fresh pair of pants when he'd left the bathroom, and that the only possibility to the source of the vibration was his burner. The call was unexpected, but not something he could ignore, quickly rising to his feet to fish it out of his pocket, then met Ian's gaze with a pause. 

"I uh, I gotta take this," Mickey said, then flashed his eyes toward the front door of the motel room and gave his head a flick, "Outside," he specified suddenly. 

Ian looked a little confused, almost suspicious, but didn't say anything in return, simply tipping his chin toward the door as well, telling Mickey to do whatever he needed and that it wasn't his business anyway. The dark haired man shot him a short, apologetic expression, then quickly made his way toward the door and outside onto the sidewalk before his burner phone had a chance to stop buzzing. When he shut the door behind him, he flipped open the cheap piece of plastic and brought it to his ear. 

"Yeah," Mickey greeted shortly, his voice changing to a deep, serious business-like tone, wondering why the fuck he was being contacted an entire day before the scheduled drop. The voice that came through was deeper than his own, older, rougher, a voice that Mickey recognized from a hundred runs before. 

"Drop's been moved," the voice informed him, to which Mickey's brow creased deep. 

"Moved?" Mickey repeated, "It ain't at the usual spot like always?" he asked. 

"Not the spot, the time," the voice corrected, "Gonna be a day late," it said.

"What the fuck for?" Mickey queried. 

"Just is what it is," the voice replied. Mickey frowned. 

"So I'm just supposed to stand around holdin' my dick in my hand for a whole extra day?" he scoffed thickly with annoyance, "That's bullshit," spat Mickey, but the person on the other end of the line didn't seem to take too kindly to his disapproval.

"You better check your fuckin' tone, kid," the other person warned, "Your father knew better than to let his mouth get the better of him when he was on a job," they said, "Remember your fuckin' place like he did, or I'll remind you where it is," the man threatened deeply. 

Mickey held his frown, but kept his mouth shut, not wanting to tempt the man, knowing exactly what he meant by his words and did his best to control his frustration, because if he didn't, it would only make things worse for him. He had too much on the line to react otherwise, not when he was so close to the end of it all.

"Two days. Same spot," the voice directed, "Be there." they said. Then with that, the line went dead and Mickey pushed a harsh, angry huff through his nose as he flipped the phone back closed.

He rubbed his brow as he sucked in a deep, thick drag of smoke, blowing it out, then throwing the rest of his cigarette furiously to the ground. 

"Fuck!" Mickey punched out as he glared up at the sky, absolutely pissed that he'd have to carry his illegal cargo around with him for entire extra day. 

He didn't like driving drugs around any longer than he had to, really not enjoying the fact that he still had to drive them around at all, especially so far outside of state lines into areas where the people that he still worked for had little to no pull with the authorities. In Chicago it'd be different, and if he got caught hauling such a large amount of drugs, the big boss was pretty good at getting one of his lawyers to talk down the charges and talk down the time, but out here that wouldn't happen. Even an employee that was valued the way Mickey was, the way his father was as well before his death, being as far outside of the state's limits as he was now, they'd be all on their own if they got busted. But that was just a risk that came with the job, a job that Mickey never wanted in the first place. Though Mickey still had no other choice, he never did and he was stuck just having to deal with it, even if he didn't want to. 

Mickey tried to steady his thoughts and compose himself, taking a moment to breathe and reminded himself that even if this run would take an extra day, it was still almost over, the very last job he'd ever have to do. And that seemed to help, at least to some extent. He just had to remain calm, had to keep his focus, stay low and finish his drive out to Oakland, albeit a bit slower than he had been. Mickey just had to kill some time on his way there so he wouldn't be stuck sitting around waiting to be noticed and picked up, or perhaps be found by the wrong people, have his shipment stolen, then have to deal with far worse consequences than being arrested. It was a lot to deal with, but Mickey knew he had to, and that it was just a short while longer until he'd never have to do this again at all. 

He exhaled heavily through his nose and slowly turned back around as he stuffed his burner back inside his pocket, then reached for the doorknob of his motel room. Mickey gave the knob a turn, stepped back inside and closed it shut behind him.

When Mickey stepped back inside the room, he immediately returned to his spot on the edge of the bed to sit, dropped his face to his palm to pinch the bridge of his nose and exhaled again. Then he felt Ian's eyes on him, waiting and watching, causing him to glance up with question in his gaze. The redhead just looked for a moment, smoking the end of his cigarette, then crushed the used butt of it into the ashtray on the little end table beside him. He raised an eyebrow as he peered back over at Mickey. 

"You got a boyfriend or something?" Ian queried suddenly, causing Mickey to suddenly screw up his face. 

"What?" Mickey asked back. 

"A boyfriend," Ian repeated, "That why you had to take that call outside?" he wondered. The dark haired man's eyes scrunched into a squint, trying to figure out if the other man was serious, then very insistently gave his head a single shake. 

"No," Mickey replied, "I don't have no fuckin' boyfriend," he said. 

"Hmm," Ian hummed, sounding like he wasn't very convinced, yet had no real reason to accuse him of lying, giving his head a thoughtful tilt, "Just got a lot of secrets then, huh?" he said. Mickey shrugged. 

"Don't we all?" he offered in return. 

"I guess we do," Ian agreed. 

Ian suddenly looked so skeptical of Mickey, almost hurt, like perhaps he thought after what they'd shared, they'd be a little more open with each other about such things. Mickey understood that, even if they hadn't known each other long, he also thought they'd developed a bit of an understanding between them, that there was no real reason to lie about anything anymore, even if there were some things still best kept to themselves. But he also didn't want to further jeaprodize himself, nor his sister, or even Ian either, not wanting him to be involved at all in something that he didn't even want to be involved with himself. And Mickey didn't want Ian to think he suddenly had a reason not to trust him either, not to believe him, so he tried his best to offer some reassurance, to let him in, just a little bit. 

"It was just a fuckin' business call, man," Mickey revealed carefully, "But it's not somethin' I can really talk about," he explained honestly, hoping that the other man believed him and wouldn't try to pry any further on it, "I really don't have no fuckin' boyfriend though, if that's what you're worried about," Mickey assured as well, "It wasn't anything like that at all," he said. Ian looked like he was considering his words, carefully thinking them over for a moment, then gave his chin a tip. 

"Well good," Ian replied, "Because I've already been a homewrecker enough in my life," he said, "I don't wanna do it again." Mickey flashed him a small smirk, and tried to look into his eyes with as much sincerity as he could muster, not wanting him to worry about anything like that at all. 

"You're not wreckin' nothin', man," Mickey insisted, "I've never exactly been the relationship type anyway," he said truthfully. The redhead raised his brow at that, seemingly surprised by the other man's explanation. 

"Never?" Ian wondered, to which the other man gave a shrug. 

"No, not really," Mickey admitted, meaning it's not that he wasn't exactly open to the possibility, just that it'd never really crossed his mind before, since he's never cared enough about anyone else to think that far ahead. "Just hasn't happened for me yet," he said. The redhead blinked, pondering again, then raised a single curious eyebrow.

"Think it ever will?" Ian asked. 

Then it was Mickey who pondered, thinking the question over carefully as he peered across the room, remembering the warm, fuzzy feeling the other man had given him earlier, as well as last night when they'd gone to bed and fallen asleep together. If someone had enough power, enough influence on him to make him feel like _that_, Mickey wouldn't necessarily be closed to the idea, no matter how new or different it would be for him to try. He held his gaze and shrugged again, not having any idea what the future may hold and flashed him another small smirk. 

"Guess I'll just have to wait and see," said Mickey.

Ian seemed to accept that, nodding slowly, then sat back against the couch. Mickey held his eye contact for a moment, then looked away, suddenly feeling like he really needed another cigarette, and reached down inside his pocket grasp his pack. He pulled one out, sparked the flame of his lighter over the end and sucked in a drag, holding it deep inside his chest for a second before he blew it out. Then Mickey peered back over at Ian to see that the other man was still watching him, like he was thinking again, but didn't seem like he was in much rush to speak. But then he tapped the tips of fingers against his thighs and raised an eyebrow again. 

"So, how long until we leave again?" Ian asked. Mickey sighed through his nose and shrugged a single shoulder. 

"Actually, I just found out that I got some fuckin' time to kill," Mickey informed, "So there really ain't no rush," he said. He flicked his thumb idly over the filter of him smoke in thought, then raised his brow with curiosity. "Thought maybe we could just hang out or somethin'," Mickey offered slowly, thinking that despite the annoyance and irritation of having to wait longer to finish up his run, this could also be a good opportunity to actually spend a little more time with Ian. A little more time before he had to turn around, that is, when the man may or may not decide to stick around for any longer. "Go get somethin' to eat," he shrugged, "Or just find some shit to do," Mickey suggested loosely, not really caring what it was they did, as long as they got to do it together, "I dunno," he shrugged again, "It's up to you though," said Mickey.

Ian looked quite surprised by Mickey's offer, but didn't appear to want to turn him down, splitting a wide, genuine smile, then gave a very excited and enthusiastic nod in return. 

"Yeah sure," Ian agreed quickly, "I'd like that," he said. 

Mickey couldn't stop himself from smiling back, instantly feeling immensely better about the next two days ahead of him, and especially about today, knowing that he would be spending it leisurely and comfortably with no one else but the redheaded man across the room. He pulled another drag of smoke from his cigarette, then blew out through grinned lips with a very happy nod of his own and gave his head a flick toward the door. 

"Alright, well let's go then, man," Mickey directed, "I'm sure we could find some place to stop and eat at least on this dead ass stretch of fuckin' road," he said as he began to stand back up, "Then we'll see what else we can find after," Mickey grinned, "There's gotta be somethin' somewhere," he said. 

Ian stood right up as well, nearly bouncing on his feet as he did, excited and ready for whatever was to come, and Mickey couldnt help but hold his smile on him as they gathered up their belongings and got ready to leave again because he was excited too. Then they left their room, turned in the key and climbed back inside Mickey's car to set off again on a destination unknown, ready to go somewhere where they both could relax and take their mind off of everything else for just a little while. 

Mickey had never felt so good, so comfortable and content with anything else in his life, and deep down it scared him how quickly it all seemed to be happening. But after so much struggle and stress that he'd dealt with in his life, especially over the last few years, he didn't want to deny himself a little break from it all, no matter how close to the end he finally was. Mickey deserved that much. 

Then as they drove back down the road, Mickey flashed Ian a small glance, feeling his heart flutter again when the redhead met his eyes and smiled once more, like he was feeling just as good about this as Mickey was, that he was still excited and happy, with nowhere else he'd rather be. And when Mickey looked back ahead, he already felt so much more relaxed and at ease than he had just a short while before, content that even if this time with Ian wasn't going to go on forever, and even if his sister had warned him against it, he was still going to enjoy it while it lasts.


End file.
